


Of All Things

by riverray



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Cute Merlin, Domestic Fluff, Everyone Loves Merlin (Merlin), Everyone knows about Merlin's magic, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff, Gen, Innocent Merlin (Merlin), Merlin is a kid, Merlin-centric (Merlin), Other, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Knights (Merlin), Sassy Merlin (Merlin), a real little kid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:46:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 63,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28091877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverray/pseuds/riverray
Summary: Merlin accidentally turns himself into a child and even though everyone handles it differently they can all agree 'Little Merlin' is rather cute.Except Arthur, of course.
Comments: 83
Kudos: 440





	1. Chapter 1

Gaius was no idiot. Of course he wasn’t. He was the court physician and a mighty fine one at that. He dutifully served the King for many years. Medically, professionally, and quite frankly, personally for longer than Gaius himself could honestly even remember. Such a task, such a responsibility, would not be given to just anyone. 

Gaius was indeed very intelligent. Being a physician he was credited for having an eye for noticing the little details in every ailment, sickness, cure, and symptom. He saw what most others overlooked. Which is why when he returned back to his chambers he shared with his ward he saw the little, pitiful looking boy, who was perhaps no more than six years old, standing in the middle and immediately exclaimed, “Merlin!”

The child visibly winced, scrunching his shoulders up to his ears and turtling into the scarf around his neck. Gaius knew. He knew right away this was no random child standing in his chambers. This was in fact his idiot ward who often had the mental capacity of a child. 

And now, unfortunately, the physical appearance of one as well. 

Gaius approached cautiously, his mouth slightly gaping and that one, critical eyebrow raised. The child watched him like a rabbit watches a fox, still hiding half his face in the cloth of his scarf, shoulders touching his ears and bright, blue eyes wide. Gaius almost felt bad for him. That is, if he were just any poor, innocent child. 

The old physician stopped only a mere few inches away from the boy and towered over him before bending at the waist to look him in the eye, “Merlin... what have you done?”

Gaius could take a few guesses. A few days ago Merlin had been bouncing on his toes with excitement at the prospect of perfecting his aging spell. His goal was to look like Dragoon but not feel as old. He had told Gaius he somehow wanted to get it so the spell would age his appearance, not his joints. The serving boy had been at it for days and eventually Gaius lost interest in favor of tending to his physician duties. When he had left a few hours earlier to gather supplies from the town, he hadn’t expected to come back to this. Merlin had obviously, and not shockingly, messed up. 

Young Merlin didn’t answer Gaius. He barely blinked, still staring at the physician, looking terrified. Gaius frowned, remembering the letters Hunith had sent him prior to Merlin’s arrival to Camelot all those years ago. While she spoke so fondly of her boy she often complained of how shy and reserved he had been as a child. Gaius wondered at the implications of Merlin's obvious deaging spell. Did the boy even remember what he had done? Does he have any memory or was he truly transformed back to his 5 year old self where his only memories would be of Hunith and the village of Ealdor? 

As the silence stretched on Gaius feared he may have to write to Hunith and call her to Camelot if she were the only aspect of the boy’s life he remembered. 

As Gaius turned from the child to begin setting his things down a little, timid voice broke through the silence and stopped him. 

“Arthur is gonna be mad, isn’t he.” 

It wasn’t a question. Gaius turned back towards his young (very young) ward to see the boy had come out of his scarf a bit, his bottom lip trembling slightly and his blue eyes even bluer with unshed tears gathering in them. 

Arthur? So Merlin did remember. That was good. This was good! Gaius would’ve been more outwardly excited if little Merlin wasn’t on the verge of having a melt down however. The old man abandoned his things down at the nearby table opposed to actually putting them away and walked back over to the boy, putting his large hand on top of Merlin’s head and ruffling his hair in a way that he hoped offered some form of comfort. 

“Don’t fret, my boy,” he told him gently, “we will figure something out.”

Gaius wasn’t expecting the young boy to throw himself into the old man’s arms and he let out an ‘oomph!’ when he did. While a little startled by such a tender response, Gaius couldn’t deny that it most certainly wasn’t unwelcomed. He hugged little Merlin back, patting the top of his head and smiling fondly. 

A few hours later, when a servant came to Gaius’s chambers to deliver a message for a rather displeased King Arthur, he knew his and Merlin’s time to fix things on their own was up. The servant said the King had sent her for Merlin as he was always present at council meetings among the knights and the King and Queen. 

“He’s quite upset,” the serving girl tells Gaius apologetically, “Merlin was not there to help ready the King for the meeting.”

“Yes, I’m sure he is,” Gaius says back, if not a little sarcastically, and goes to shut the door on the girl in a way he hopes doesn’t seem as rude as it feels, “thank you, Miriam, I will deal with the King right away.”

The door clicks shut and Gaius turns to the little boy who is sitting on the table, nibbling away at some bread as he kicks his feet lazily. He’s looking at Gaius with those big, wide eyes again. “What am I gonna do, Gaius?”

“Don’t worry,” Gaius tells him as comfortingly as he can though he knows this won’t go over smoothly, “I’ll handle it. You just stay here. Do not leave this room, do you understand me?”

The boy nods quickly, his wavy hair bouncing a bit at the action. Gaius nods back but suddenly sends the boy a sharp look, “Merlin,” he says with a warning tone, “I mean it.”

“Alright.”

“And don’t let anyone in. If someone knocks on the door… hide.”

Merlin nods again. 

“Good. I’ll be right back.”

And with that Gaius takes a deep breath and ventures out of his chamber and down the corridor to face the King. It’s a longer walk for an old man like himself but it gives Gaius time to think of an excuse. He debates lying to the King altogether but thinks better of it. If Arthur finds out the truth (which is likely) Gaius and Merlin will both be in trouble. 

When Gaius enters the council room he’s center of attention when all eyes turn to him quickly. Except the King who is standing over the long table they’re all seated at, looking down at what appears to be a map. 

“About time, Merlin, have you no dec-” Arthur stops when he looks up and is met with Gaius standing at the door and not his bumbling servant. 

“Gaius,” Arthur says slowly, “you’re not Merlin.”

“No, Sire.” 

“Well where is he? I called for Merlin.”

“I know, Sire, my apologies… he… won’t be coming, I’m afraid.”

Arthur narrows his eyes and the knights and Gwen dart theirs between the two standing men. “What has happened?” Arthur asks first because he’s known Merlin long enough to know when he’s not present for something it’s usually because he’s off doing something either very stupid or very brave. 

Or both. Usually both.

Gaius tilts his chin up a bit, hands behind his back, “nothing I can’t fix. It’ll be all sorted out by tomorrow my Lord.” 

Arthur sighs and flops down into his chair, never minding how unkingly he must’ve looked, “I trust that if my idiot was in danger or dying I would know of it by now.”

Gaius nods, “I’m sure.” 

“So what’s happened, Gaius? Speak freely.”

Gaius visibly becomes uncomfortable, looking to the floor, opening his mouth and then shutting it again, “it’s just a magical mishap-”

“I made me little,” a small voice says from beside Gaius and the old man’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull as he turns to see little Merlin standing beside him, locking eyes with Arthur from across the council room. 

“Merlin!” Gaius hisses at the boy who looks up at Gaius innocently, “what?” 

“I told you to stay where you were!”

“I got scared!” Merlin retaliated and stuck out his bottom lip as his little eyebrows knit together. Gaius was at a loss for words. 

When the old physician chances a glance at the King he is greeted with a bunch of nobles staring like deer who had been spotted in the woods. Arthur in particular had his jaw hung open, staring at Merlin like he truly could not believe his eyes. Gwen slapped a hand to her mouth, looking from her husband to her best friend. Her… little… best friend.

“Oh god,” she whispers. 

Little Merlin rocks on his heels with hands behind his back, feeling in trouble with everyone staring at him like that. Maybe he really should’ve just stayed in the room. 

“Merlin?” it was Lancelot to speak up first, calling out to his friend softly as he slowly stands from his chair. Merlin looks at him and gives a shy nod before mumbling, “I’m sorry.”

“How-...” Arthur begins, also standing and looking from the child to Gaius, “how did this happen?”

Gaius swallows thickly, “a spell gone wrong, Sire.”

“Well I can see that,” Arthur replies incredulously, running his hand through his hair as he looks back to his young manservant, “what were you trying to do Merlin? This is ridiculous!”

For his part, Merlin looks even smaller as Arthur berates him and steps closer to Gaius before hiding behind the old man altogether. The action causes Arthur to look around confused. 

Gwaine stands and shoots an accusing look at the King, “hey! He’s just a kid, come on now.” 

“Gwaine, he’s Merlin!”

“Who’s what? Four now?”

“If I had to take a guess I’d say more like six or seven,” Gaius interjects and Gwaine tilts his head, “he’s so small.”

“It’s Merlin, he’s always been small,” Elyan speaks up this time to which Percival nods, “it’s true.” Leon sits between them, stone faced. This isn’t the craziest thing he’s been through and honestly he’s starting to miss the days where troubling matters were dealt simply with a sword. 

“His age doesn’t matter!” Arthur nearly bellows, “what matters is that he’s a child, he’s messed up, once again, and he needs to fix this as soon as possible. Gaius, how does he fix this?” 

Everyone looks to Gaius once more, awaiting for him to give a simple answer like ‘oh! Easy! He just recites this spell and then poof! He’s better.’ 

But Gaius doesn’t say that and for a moment he doesn’t say anything which… says a lot. Arthur doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath until Gaius shakes his head, “I’m not sure what can be done to correct this, Sire. I’ve never seen such a thing where someone has deaged themselves. This isn’t like when Merlin ages himself. This is the reverse and I’d need time to work it all out.” 

“How much time?” Arthur asks in a low voice, almost darkly as if he could threaten Gaius into telling him it wouldn’t take that long. But Gaius just shakes his head apologetically, looking away from the King. 

A moment of silence passes where no one does anything as the realization of what Merlin has done sinks in. Arthur could send him to the stocks for such stupidity. Well, if he wasn’t a child. It irks Arthur probably more than it should that he can’t even punish Merlin for this.

Gwaine pushes his chair out from under him rather loudly and begins to walk towards Gaius. Arthur shoots him a questioning glare, “where are you going?”

Gwaine turns to give him a glare of his own, “I wanna see Merlin. You know, as a child,” he says like it’s obvious and goes up to Gaius, silently asking for permission and the old man merely nods behind him. Gwaine peeks around him, his gaze immediately going down to where Merlin is hiding behind Gaius, clinging to the back of the old man’s long tunic. He looks up at Gwaine with those big, blue eyes, looking timid and so small it almost makes Gwaine say ‘aww’ out loud. 

Instead, however, Gwaine exclaims, “ah ha!” and swoops down to pick Merlin up in his arms. Gaius nearly has whiplash at the sight of Gwaine manhandling his ward. 

Gwaine turns towards the rest of them at the table, Merlin settled on his hip looking very much riddled with shock, and gestures to the boy with his other hand, “just as I suspected!”

They all stare at him in response. “Suspected what?” Lancelot speaks up. 

“Merlin’s always been adorable. Look at him!” and for good measure Gwaine holds the boy out in front of him from under the armpits, giving the knights, Arthur, and Gwen a good look.

Merlin blinks at them owlishly before his face scrunches up into a childish pout and he begins to fight within Gwaine’s hold, attempting to squirm and wiggle his way out. Gwaine looks amused. 

“Lemme go!” Merlin whines, kicking back at Gwaine and getting an ineffective hit upon the Knight’s armour. 

“Gwaine, let him down!” Lancelot demands, walking briskly to the pair before taking little Merlin out of Gwaine’s grasp and placing him down on the floor on the other side of him. Merlin turns back to Gwaine with his hands on his hips, “don’t do that!” he scolds the knight, his little voice full of rage but sounding so small it makes Gwaine slap a hand over his mouth as to not laugh in his face. 

Merlin sees right through it though. He’s little, not stupid. And maybe it’s the frustration of another spell gone wrong or the fact he’s barely above anyone’s knees in height or maybe it’s the look of amusement on Gwaine’s face and the look of stoic disappointment on Lancelot’s. Merlin’s not sure. But suddenly his eyes sting with tears and he feels himself lose control of his bottom lip as it begins to quiver. He feels a fool for being so emotional but he also feels very overwhelmed and honestly fed up with the situation he got himself into and it's only been a few hours. 

Above all, though, he has a sudden and strong urge for his mother.

Gwaine and Lancelot both go stock-still when they see Merlin start to cry. Gwaine’s not laughing anymore and he looks from Gaius to Lancelot nervously, obviously not familiar with an upset child. Lancelot isn’t much better, his eyes big and jaw tight. 

“Uh-” Lance begins but before he can finish the Queen is running over, her dress gathered in one hand to the side while the other half sweeps around the knights. She pushes Lancelot and Gwaine away with the look of a protective mother and bends down to Merlin’s height, quickly reaching out to gently swipe away a stray tear as it escapes down his cheek. She sends daggers to Gwaine and Lancelot, “don’t you men know anything about children? You’ve embarrassed him, Gwaine.”

Gwaine blinks, confused, throwing his hands up in surrender, “I was just- he-... I didn’t mean to.” He says rather pathetically, genuinely feeling bad for making his friend so upset. It merely makes Gwen squint her eyes at him even more. 

“Don’t cry, Merlin,” she tells the boy in such a soft tone even Arthur seems surprised, “the big bad knight didn’t mean it. Come, let’s go back to Gaius’s chamber. We’ll figure this out,” Gwen cups his chin and smiles sweetly at him when the little boy gives her a tentative smile back. She stands back up, taking his little hand in hers and walking with him out of the room, passing Gaius with a nod who frowns, cocks his head, and follows them out, leaving the knights and Arthur alone.

When they’re gone Gwaine turns to his fellow men with a look of disbelief, “I didn’t mean to make him cry, I wouldn’t do that! Not on a purpose.”

“Well you did,” Elyan speaks up, “this isn’t regular Merlin you can have a bit of horseplay with and tease. He’s a little boy now Gwaine.”

“I wonder for how long…” Leon mumbles from where he’s sitting, still seemingly unphased by the latest magical hiccup. Arthur sighs, long and heavy, “hopefully not for too long. Gaius must be able to figure this out. Merlin’s already a handful as an adult I can’t imagine him running around here as a… boy.”

“How will you go about your day, Sire?” Percival asks the King, sharing a subtle wink with Elyan they think Arthur doesn’t see. But Arthur does and he can’t help the bite in his tone when he asks, “what do you mean? This will hardly affect me.”

Percival wants to goad him, comment on the fact Arthur can’t seem to do anything without Merlin by his side, whether he admits to it or not. The knights all see it. Everyone does. The way Arthur relies on Merlin for things like setting out his clothes for that morning to advising the King on matters no servant really should. But no one says anything. Not to Arthur at least. Merlin on the other hand gets teased for it. But Merlin is much more willing to be teased, giving it right back when he can. 

Percival doesn’t say anything to his King. But Gwaine has never cared what Arthur thinks or threatens him with and has no problem letting out an obnoxious “HA!” that has Arthur rubbing a temple and dismissing the whole meeting all together. 

It’s going to be a long week.


	2. Chapter 2

Back in Gaius’s chamber Merlin remained quiet as Gwen fussed over him and Gaius got busy reading through his books of magic, hoping to find anything that might indicate a reversing spell. 

Gwen had Merlin sat upon Gaius’s workbench, his cheeks still pink from the Queen picking him up in one quick motion before placing him there and softly telling him how it was okay if he felt sad or embarrassed or needed to cry. That he was safe to do so in her presence and she promised she wouldn’t let any of the knights, or Arthur for that matter, tease him for it. 

Merlin never mentioned how uncomfortable it felt to have Gwen, truly one of his best friends, pick him up like the child he appeared to be. She was being so nice and understanding to him he felt it rude to say anything. He figures, while he is to look like a small child he may as well get used to being treated as one. 

Sometimes.

When Gwen ruffles his curls affectionately, Merlin pouts and swats her hands away, Queen or not. She giggles in her usual sweet way and bites her bottom lip, “sorry Merlin, you are rather adorable. I just can’t help it. Are you hungry? I can have one of the maids bring you a sweet.”

A sweet has honestly never sounded as good as it does right now but Merlin quickly disguises his childlike interest with a look of determination as he puts his little knuckles on his hips. “No thank you, My Lady” he tells her in a voice as deep as he can muster but it still sounds so small and squeaky, “I gots to help Gaius find a- a-.. Something to fix this. And the sooner the-the better,” he finishes with a nod and goes to scramble down from the workbench when he suddenly realizes how far up he actually is. 

It seems so stupid, to be afraid of such a ridiculous height. In his adult form the workbench is at his waist and he can easily sit upon it by simply standing on his tiptoes a little (Gaius scolding him whenever he did) but now… now it kinda feels like jumping off a cliff. 

Merlin reaches out a little foot, turning onto his tummy in hopes of maybe just sliding down easy. But when he closes his eyes the floor seems so much further away in his mind and he hates how afraid he suddenly feels. He quickly turns back over to his bum, bringing his legs in and not even thinking twice as he makes grabby hands for Gwen. 

Gwen smiles, nearly melting at his reach for help and picking him up with ease before setting him safely on the floor. Merlin beams up at her, his smile the biggest it's been since he first turned himself small, “thanks Gwen!” he exclaims, forgetting all royal formalities as he goes to run off to Gaius.

Merlin suddenly stops mid run, turning to Gwen with pink cheeks once more as he bows slightly and mumbles, “My Lady,” before turning to walk to Gaius with his chin held high and his arms firmly at his side. 

Being a child was one thing, acting like one was another and Merlin was determined to not succumb to this spell. He’d have to try extra hard to at least act like an adult. 

Later that night, Merlin is quick to lose stamina. 

“Can we take a break, Gaius?” Merlin whines from where he’s lying across the books on the dining table, staring up at the ceiling with red, watery eyes. Gaius looks up from the page he was engrossed in, looking from the darkened window and to Merlin with a raised brow, “you do want to get big again, don’t you?”

“Yeeees,” Merlin whines again, reaching up to rub at his eyes with his fist, “but I’m tired and I… I can’t read,” he admits softly, ashamed but not surprised. He hadn’t mentioned it until now, instead just looking at all the pictures the books had to offer and trying to make sense of it all. Though Merlin was educated for a peasant boy he hadn’t actually learned how to read and write until he was eight. He had always thought it was a privilege that he got the chance to learn at all but now he was hating the fact that he hadn’t learned earlier. 

It had been a few hours since Gwen had brought Merlin back to Gaius’s chambers and the Queen had retreated to her own room, reminding Gaius to not keep Merlin up too late since he was a little boy now and all. She had run a hand through his wavy hair once more before leaving and this time Merlin didn’t say or do anything against it. In fact, he found it rather comforting at this point. 

Gaius obviously hadn’t taken heed of Gwen’s warning on keeping Merlin up too late since it felt like it was well into the night. Usually Merlin could stay up until the sun rose if he had to. He was just built like that, running on little sleep and food to get his chores done for both Gaius and Arthur. But now he wasn’t even sure he could last one more minute. No doubt another unfortunate feature of being little. The thought made him grumpy. Grumpy and even more tired. 

Gaius sighs, stuffing a piece of parchment between two pages of his book and closing it altogether before rising from his chair and gesturing for Merlin to get off the table. “You didn’t eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” Merlin mumbles, sitting up and sluggishly getting down before plopping into the chair he was originally sitting at, “m’ tired.”

“Yes I know, but you should eat. You’re a growing boy now.”

Merlin shoots Gaius a glare and the sight of it makes the old physician chuckle. Adult Merlin seldom could be intimidating when he was grumpy. Little Merlin was even less intimidating, looking more like an upset kitten. 

“Fine, fine,” Gaius relents, ushering Merlin up from the chair and towards his room, “head off to bed then, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Merlin pauses on the stairs, turning back to Gaius with a confused expression, “you’re not-... can you… come with me?” 

“Where, Merlin?”

“To… my room,” Merlin supplies quietly as he plays with the end of his shirt, “just until I’m in bed? It’s dark in there.”

Gaius stares at him for a moment before nodding slowly, feeling sorry for the boy now that he truly was a boy. Merlin was.. Is.. obviously plagued by childlike fears such as the dark. If the boy didn’t look so pitiful Gaius might’ve teased him for it. 

“C’mon then,” Gaius says, following up the stairs behind him, pushing the bedroom door open and instructing Merlin to take his day clothes off. 

“Your nightwear won’t fit you, I’m afraid. You’ll have to sleep in your trousers until we can get you fitting clothes tomorrow. I’ll have to run to the village. I doubt we have anything in the castle that’ll fit you like this.” 

Merlin nods and strips down to just his pants. At this point he’s so tired he really doesn’t care what he sleeps in. He crawls up into his bed when Gaius is so kind as to pull the blankets back for him. He allows the old man to cover him with the bedding, tucking him in ever the slightest. 

“Would you like me to leave the door open?” 

“Yes, please,” Merlin nearly whispers, feeling once again silly for wanting such things. He usually always slept with the door closed, mostly out of respect rather than preference. Since he and Gaius shared the small room it was the only time they truly had their own space. 

But tonight, Merlin didn’t want to feel alone. He hoped Gaius would understand. 

“Goodnight, Merlin,” Gaius whispers, brushing the boy’s hair as Merlin begins to close his eyes, listening to the physician retreat out the door and back to his own bed. 

“Night, Gaius.” 

The next morning, Merlin is bright eyed and bushy tailed. He’s pining all around the room, shirtless and barefoot with just his trousers as he bounces from one thing to the next. 

“Watch me, Gaius!” he exclaims to the old man who sits tiredly at the dining table, his steamy cup of tea not even helping him to wake up anymore. Gaius turns his rickety body to where Merlin’s voice is coming from. The boy is standing on a chair he had dragged to the window so he could see out of it. But now he was attempting to stand on the sill, the chair wiggling under him from unbalanced weight. 

Gaius snaps his eyes wide open at that, “Merlin, no!” he scolds, hurrying to get up as fast as his old bones would allow. 

“Huh?” Merlin asks, turning his attention to Gaius, effectively knocking himself off balance and tumbling from the chair to the ground with a gasp followed by a thud. He’s landed on his front, hitting his chin on the floor on the way down, resulting in a bitten lip that quickly leaves a foul taste on Merlin’s tongue. 

“Ow,” Merlin hisses out as he rolls over and sits up, touching his busted lip gingerly and seeing drops of red on his fingertips when he pulls them away.

Gaius is there in an instant, kneeling down beside the boy and examining him with thorough eyes, “what were you thinking?” he scolds as he grabs a nearby cloth and dabs at Merlin’s lip, “that was foolish, no, no don’t start crying now.”

Merlin can’t help it though and he’s aware this is one too many times he’s cried in the last 24 hours. But his lip hurts and that was scary and Gaius is mad. 

“Merlin,” Gaius warns, holding the cloth to his lip, “it’s barely a scratch. You are fine, my boy.” 

“A-are you mad?” Merlin stutters out through tears, fighting back his hardest not to really cry. He’s not sure why he’s so emotional. He’s never cared this much before if he’s upset Gaius, not really. 

“No, I’m not mad,” the old man tells him with a tired sigh, “stand up, here, take this cloth and hold it there for a moment. Your lip will swell, I’m sure, but you’ll live to see another day. Enough of this horsing around. You’ll hurt yourself worse next time.”

Merlin nods with a sniffle, holding the cloth and watching as Gaius picks up the chair and places it against the wall. He turns back to Merlin with his hands on his hips, “were you always this rambunctious as a child?” 

Merlin shrugs, honestly not sure. He couldn’t remember much of what it was like being this young. 

Gaius sighs once more, grabbing Merlin by the shoulders and guiding him back up to his room, “go dress for the day, we have work to do.” 

Merlin heads off without complaint and once he’s in his room Gaius sits back down with his tea. Merlin had been up long before him which wasn’t much different from when he was an adult. The difference was that adult Merlin often had the decency to sneak about the chambers quietly, getting himself ready to head off to serve Arthur for the day and usually never waking Gaius even a little. But young Merlin had woken up with an idea that because he was up, everyone should be up. 

Everyone meaning Gaius who, mind you, enjoys his slumber like a bear in hibernation. 

Needless to say he was less than thrilled. 

As Gaius went about picking up the mess the two of them had made from breakfast, Merlin emerges back from the bedroom dressed and wide eyed as he hurries down the stairs and bolts across the room, “I’m late!”

Gaius nearly loses hold of his plate when the boy whizzes past him, “late? Late for what?”

“To wake Arthur!”

“Merlin, I’m sure the King isn’t expecting you in the state you are-“

Merlin’s out the door and lets it slam closed behind him before Gaius can finish, never paying the physician any mind on his way out. Gaius thinks he should probably go after him, chase him down and keep him locked away in their chambers while he’s the size of a pea and vulnerable to just about anything.

But Gaius takes only a few steps towards the door when he’s suddenly aware of just how quiet everything is. No tears, no whines, no shouts or “Look it Gaius!” every five seconds. 

He feels bad for enjoying the peaceful silence. 

But also, Gaius thinks as he allows himself to slowly settle back in his chair, maybe it’s Arthur’s turn to babysit. 

Gwen is already up by the time the door to Arthur’s room is opened and closed, the sound of feet shuffling across the floor followed by the clatter of trays filling the quietness of the room has her rising from the bed with furrowed brows. 

Arthur’s still asleep, always the last to rise, and it takes Gwen a couple good shakes to get him to open his eyes. He mumbles as he stretches, looking around with blurry vision before staring at her with a blank expression, “what?”

“Did you request a new servant?”

“A new-… what?” Arthur sits up, the two of them surrounded by the bed canopy and shielded away from whoever entered the chambers. They jump when the canopy is suddenly brushed aside, though just a little, and a small head of wavy black hair pokes in from the side.

“Rise and shine, Dollop head! Lady Dollop head.” 

“God!” Arthur exclaims, a hand on his chest, “I thought that was all a bad dream. You’re still little Merlin.” 

Merlin pouts, “uh-huh. I brought you your breakfast!” and with that he’s gone again, the curtain falling behind him. Arthur shoots his wife a look of apprehension before quickly getting out of bed and ripping the curtain open once more, finding Merlin in front of his open wardrobe and looking up with his hands on his hips. 

“Merlin, what are you doing?”

Merlin looks at him like he’s the crazy one, “getting your clothes. You can’t walk around nakey.”

“Nakey?”

“Uh-huh.” 

Gwen comes up beside Arthur, placing a hand on his upper arm and smiling at him amused before patting it, “I’m going to my room to get changed.” When she passes Merlin she squeezes his little shoulder, “morning Merlin.” 

“Mornin’!” 

Gwen leaves, throwing Arthur one last glance that tells him she finds the whole thing endearing. Or hilarious. Or hilariously endearing. Arthur hopes he doesn’t look as panicked as he feels. He wants to order Guinevere not to leave him alone with a child, never mind the child being his best friend and most trusted companion. 

Merlin’s busy grabbing trousers and a shirt for Arthur, one by one, throwing them behind him hoping they land on the chair. They don’t but Arthur doesn’t mention it. He just slowly walks up behind Merlin, tapping him on the shoulder lightly. 

Merlin whirls around, looking up at him with expectant eyes that are big and full of such innocence it throws Arthur for a loop, “uh,” he begins, losing track of his thought before clearing his throat and crossing his arms, “why are you here? Shouldn’t you be undoing this mess you made with Gaius?”

Arthur isn’t quite sure what he said to make Merlin look so deflated like that but he wishes he could take his words and shove them back in his mouth. Merlin sags visibly, looking to the floor as though he was being lectured, “I… can’t read right now. Gaius is still looking. And I-I want to be here. This is my job.”

“Yes, when you were big. You’re a child now Merlin, how-“

“Please don’t sack me!” 

Arthur takes a step back at the outburst, blinking down at Merlin, feeling more and more out of his comfort zone with each passing second. “What? I never said I wanted to sack you. Merlin, I’m just saying how are you supposed to do what you normally do for me when you’re like this? You’re too little.” 

“I’m not!” Merlin argues back, his voice breaking slightly. It sounds so foreign to Arthur. High pitched and small yet somehow freaking Arthur out with every word. The whole thing is freaking him out honestly. He’s not sure he can ever quite wrap his head around this. 

Arthur lets out a deep breath, hands on his hips as he stares little Merlin down. He vaguely recalls having similar arguments like this with his father when he was young. Always wanting to tag along with whatever his father and the knights were doing but being told he was just too little to do so. His father looked at him probably the same way he's now looking at Merlin. 

That also freaked him out. 

He wasn’t ready to be a father. Especially not to Merlin. That was just weird on all kinds of levels. 

Arthur’s about to put his foot down, tell Merlin off as though he were his usual, adult self and send him back to Gaius’s to figure whatever it is they need to figure out to get this fixed when he suddenly notices the dried blood on Merlin’s swollen bottom lip. Arthur squints his eyes and leans forward before bending at the waist and capturing Merlin’s small chin between his fingers, forcing him to tilt his head up so the King can see it in better light. 

“What happened to your lip?” Arthur asks, examining it with pinched features, glaring at the injury. Merlin’s frozen in Arthur’s grasp, his eyes darting from side to side, “I fell. From a chair.”

“A chair?”

Merlin nods off Arthur’s hold, shrugging at him, “I think Gaius was mad.” 

It’s hard for Arthur to picture anyone mad at Merlin other than himself but especially Gaius. He wonders if maybe Merlin as a little boy is perhaps just a bit too much for the elderly man. Arthur remembers when he was little Gaius was old and, despite his calm and tender nature, could get quite snippy when Arthur acted up. 

As much as Arthur doesn’t want to play nursemaid to little Merlin he figures maybe their quickest route to getting a reversing spell (or whatever it is) and fixing this situation is to leave Gaius be and let him work without the distraction of the tiny warlock himself. 

Arthur nods to himself, awkwardly patting Merlin on the head, “so be it. You can resume your manservant duties. Or, at least, some of them.”

Merlin gasps excitedly, too excitedly for Arthur’s liking and the King quickly waves a finger at him, “no, no, none of that. If you’re going to be my manservant you’re going to act like a man.” 

Merlin nods, “easy.” 

“Is it? You struggled as an adult.”

Merlin frowns. If he could reach Arthur’s head he swears he’d whack the back of it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quarantine Round 3, let's go.

Over the years, Arthur will admit, Merlin had become quite the servant. Sure, he was often late and didn’t always fold Arthur’s clothes right so they’d wrinkle. He occasionally forgot to tighten Arthur’s cinch before he mounted a horse, polished his armour in a half assed manner, and sometimes, too many times if Arthur’s being honest, was clumsy enough to cause such embarrassment the King could feel it in the tips of his ears. 

But, there was no one else Arthur would rather have by his side. For all his clumsiness and mess ups and shenanigans Merlin was, in Arthur’s eyes, a top notch servant. 

Until now, Arthur thinks, as he sits at his table, his chin resting upon his palm. His hair is messy from Merlin wrestling his “big head” (as Merlin put it) into the hole of his shirt. The shirt which Arthur is now wearing backwards (he tried to correct the boy, attempted to turn the shirt around the right way but Merlin was adamant he had gotten it right.) 

Merlin’s busy rifling through Arthur’s wardrobe for stockings, throwing pairs he deems unworthy to the side until he finds “the perfect ones for a king.” If Arthur has to wait another minute he thinks he may go insane. 

“Any pair will do, Merlin. I do plan to meet my knights for a training session shortly here.” 

“All these ones are yuck! Don’t ya know you gotta wash these things?” 

“That’s your job! When you’re big again I’ll be sure to pass on the complaint.” 

Merlin rolls his eyes, finally settling on a pair that looks just like all the others he had tossed aside and returns to the King, plopping himself down at Arthur’s feet and raising a stocking up, “gimme your foot.”

Arthur smirks to himself, raising his barefoot and wiggling it in Merlin’s face. The boy scrunches up his nose, sliding away on his bum while whining, “Arthur! That’s gross!” 

“They’re the feet of your king, they’re hardly gross.”

“They don’t look like the feet of a king.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“That’s why your stockings are so gross. Look at your feet.” Merlin giggles at his own insult, looking up to Arthur with a boyish grin and the King has half a mind to shove his feet back in the boy’s face. Instead he grins back, wagging his foot back and forth, “put this one on the right way will ya?”

Once Merlin is done dressing Arthur (rather terribly) the two stand up, Arthur readjusting his shirt when Merlin’s not looking. The King has his breakfast while Merlin sits at the chair next to him, babbling on about nothing and everything all at once. Honestly, Arthur thought Merlin was annoying any other day but this new Merlin takes the cake. 

“What’s next?” Merlin asks, looking up to Arthur with his arms crossed when the King has finished his breakfast. The boy’s never this ready for his next task but given the situation he’s in Merlin’s feeling comforted by any sense of normalcy. Even if it means tending to Arthur’s neediness. 

“Next is my armour-”

“I’ll go get it!” 

“No! No, that’s quite alright Merlin. If you don’t remember it’s all quite heavy. I’ll put it on myself and then we’ll head to the training fields and meet up with the rest. Why don’t you… put all my plates together. That way the other servants won’t have to.” 

Merlin pouts but nods anyways, busying himself with the mundane task as Arthur gathers his armour and begins to put it all on. He relents a few minutes in, requesting Merlin’s help, to the little boy’s relief, when he can’t quite reach all the straps. 

Merlin has to stand on a chair to reach said straps but he’s getting used to being pint sized. He barely even complains. 

Once ready for training Arthur leads the way through the castle and out onto the training fields. The rest of the knights are already there, gathered in a semi circle and engaged in chatter and jokes when Arthur and Merlin show up. It's Lancelot who notices them first, nudging Gwaine in the stomach with his elbow, gaining all the knight's attention and their chatter instantly dies, all staring at the King and his little manservant almost a bit nervously. 

“Merlin,” Gwaine greets first, breaking the awkward silence and sending the boy a small smile as he does, “you’re still a babe. No luck on the magic front then I see?”

Merlin looks at him incredulously, “I’m not a baby. Look at me! I’m just a- I’m just a child. Not a baby.”

Gwaine raises his hands, frowning, “sorry, right. Not a babe.”

“You are pretty small though,” Elyan deadpans and Leon smacks him in the back. Elyan replies with a disbelieving “excuse me?!” turning to the eldest knight in shock. 

“Alright,” Arthur interjects, breaking it up before it even starts, “yes, clearly Merlin is still a child. Gaius is working on it. Until then Merlin is adamant on still tending to his duties. So let’s focus on what we are here for today. Merlin, get me my sword.”

“Kay,” the boy says and walks himself over the table displaying all the men’s swords and weapons. He reaches up on his tiptoes for Arthur’s preferred training sword, grasping the pommel with two hands and yanking it off the table. 

Merlin’s not anticipating how heavy the sword is now that he’s lost his adult muscles. The weight of the weapon nearly drops him to the grass and Lancelot is quick to take a step forward to lend a hand when Gwaine lays his forearm across his chest, giving him a slight head shake and a quirked brow. 

“Let him.”

“He’s struggling,” Lancelot points out the obvious. Gwaine nods, “he’ll get it.”

They all watch as little Merlin steadies himself on his two feet and begins to drag the sword that’s as long as he is tall from the table to the group of men, pulling with a little groan. 

“Oh, let me,” Arthur tries but Merlin shouts at him, “no! It’s not that heavy, I gots it!” 

Arthur scoffs at being yelled at. And by a six year old at that. Or five, or seven, or whatever the hell age Merlin is at. 

It takes longer than necessary before Arthur receives his sword. And it's dropped at his feet when Merlin leans back on his heels and lets out a ‘phew.’ He smiles up at Arthur, proud of himself and gestures to the sword on the ground, “you’re welcome.”

“Mmm,” Arthur hums, clearly unimpressed, ignoring Gwaine behind him who claps and says, “atta boy Merls!” and bends down to pick the sword up, “go sit on that barrel, away from the sword fighting. And stay there. We don’t need you getting hurt.” 

Merlin looks to the barrel Arthur gestures to with his chin. It’s quite a ways away and the displeasure is clear on the little warlock’s face, “all the way over there? But why? I won’t be able to see anything.”  
“You’re little now and you’re a hazard if you get in the way and you’ll do as I say, now go,” Arthur commands pointing in the desired direction with his sword. Merlin glares at him but turns away towards the barrel anyways, mumbling something under his breath Arthur pretends not to hear. 

He turns to his men but watches over his shoulder to make sure the boy gets to the barrel as he asks. When Merlin climbs up dutifully and takes a seat he turns to the knights with an eye roll of his own, “psh, he’s worse as a boy.”

“You’re not going to make this worse for him, are you?” Lancelot asks, genuinely looking concerned. 

Arthur scoffs, “what do you mean?”

“It’s bad enough he’s more than half his age now the least you can do is go easy on him.”

“First of all,” Arthur states, pointing his sword at Lance, “Mer-lin, once again, got himself into this mess. I’m not going to coddle him for making such a mistake… again! Need I remind you this isn’t the first time he’s magically screwed up.” 

“No, but he’s never quite done this before.”

“Exactly. And hopefully, by helping make the experience a tad unpleasant, maybe he won’t do it again.” Lancelot raises his eyebrows at him, not on board but knowing when to hold his tongue. 

Unlike Gwaine, “yeah but you don’t gotta be a prick to him. Don’t go overboard, you saw how easily upset he gets now, all I had to do was pick him up.” 

“That was uncalled for,” Arthur says, holding a hand up to Gwaine, “plus. I’m keeping him safe over there. He’s a little boy, he should be at a safe distance anyways.”

And really there’s no argument with that. 

Merlin spends the majority of the morning sulking, watching the knights and Arthur train is usually boring for him anyways but now he can’t even crack jokes at Arthur’s expense with Gwaine when he’s so far away. He sits there for what feels like hours, arms crossed and bottom lip stuck out. He’s not as patient as he used to be and this whole sitting around, doing nothing, is really starting to grate on his nerves. He puffs out a breath of air, watching as it blows through his bangs. Merlin falls backwards onto the barrel, stretching out his arms and watching as the white puffy clouds float through the blue sky. He wonders if his mum can see them too. He wonders what she’s doing at this very moment.

He wonders if she’s missing him as much as he’s missing her. 

“Merlin?”

The boy sits up at the sound of his name. Lancelot has approached him, soaked in sweat with a busted lip but wearing a smile as he comes to stand beside him at the barrel. 

“How are you holding up?” Lancelot asks, jostling his helmet to the crock of his arm as he wipes his hands with a handkerchief. Merlin shrugs, looking behind the knight at the others who appear to be taking a break. Arthur must have called for one while Merlin’s mind was drifting. 

“Just-” Lancelot shrugs, innocently mocking Merlin to which the boy gives him a small smile in return, “I guess so.”

Lancelot studies him, his eyes gentle in the way they always are when he’s with Merlin, waiting for the warlock to break down like he usually does when something’s bothering him. Maybe he does a better job at holding it in for Gaius or Gwen or Arthur but Merlin has a harder time not spilling his burdens upon Lancelot. 

A price, Lancelot figures, for being one of the first to learn Merlin’s most guarded secrets before anyone else. A price the knight was more than willing to pay. 

“I’m just… so little!” Merlin finally spits out, throwing his arms up, “and everyone keeps reminding me! I know I messed up. I just-... I feel bad about it.” 

Lancelot reaches out, placing his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, able to squeeze the entire thing in his large grasp, “don’t, Merlin. Don’t listen to Arthur, you know he doesn’t understand, not quite. You may have messed up but so doesn’t he. Just in different ways. We all do. You shouldn’t beat yourself up over it.” 

“Well too late,” the boy grumbles, turning away from Lancelot with a frown, “I don’t know how Gaius is gonna fix this. I don’t even know how I did this.” 

Lance sighs, patting Merlin’s back, hoping it can offer some form of comfort, “he will. Gaius is great like that. This will all be over soon.”

Merlin doesn’t reply, just kicks his heels lazily into the barrel beneath him, still pouting over his predicament and finding Lancelot’s words of encouragement futile. Easy for him to say being all tall and manlike. Merlin’s got little legs and pudgy hands that can’t even carry a sword right. 

Lancelot pokes him in the back, “Merlin.”

Merlin waves him off with his hand in response and Lancelot’s eyes twinkle in mischief, “don’t wave me away, look at me.” This time the knight pokes Merlin in the side, right below the rib cage and the little boy jumps immediately, letting out a squeal he didn’t even know he was capable of. 

He quickly turns to Lancelot with a gasp, “excuse you!” 

“Are you… ticklish?” 

“No!”

Lancelot pokes him again, same spot, and Merlin reacts the same way, moving away from the knight to the edge of the barrel, looking at him with wide eyes. 

“You wouldn’t.”

“I might.” 

Even as an adult, Merlin is not nearly as quick as Lance and can’t escape him fast enough before the knight has his fingers dug into the sides of Merlin’s ribcage, tickling him just enough for the boy to lose his fight and give in, letting out a string of giggles and “no, no, no!” 

It’s the first time he’s really laughed since this whole thing happened. Merlin hasn’t been tickled like this since he truly was a child. Gwaine’s drunken tickles didn’t count and neither did Arthur’s accidental tickles when they were both caught up together in the rope trap.  
(Arthur threatened him never to speak of it.)

(Merlin didn’t need to be threatened, he wouldn’t have spoken of it out of free will anyways.)

This was very different. This was the type of tickling that had you lose control completely. Lose control of your body and your ability to suppress a laugh no matter how much you tried. This was fight or flight kind of tickling. 

And Merlin felt best to choose flight.

In an attempt to wiggle free, Merlin’s able to fall off the other side of the barrel, landing on his feet and quickly running away from Lancelot as fast as his little legs will take him. He doesn’t even realize he’s smiling so big it’s starting to cause an ache in his cheeks. He’s giggling at the thought of someone chasing him, feeling giddy with excitement and anticipation as he breaks through the line of knights and quickly grabs onto a pair of legs closest to him, hiding behind them and poking his head around the armoured shins, looking for Lancelot. 

Arthur nearly spits out the water he had been drinking from his waterskin when he feels something wrap around his legs. He looks down, cursing at whatever it is, and blinks at Merlin owlishly. 

“Merlin! What the hell are you doing?”

“Don’t let him get me!” Merlin exclaims, pointing at the knight who jogs up to the rest of them with a bashful grin on his face. 

“Just a bit of fun,” he explains, standing between a confused Leon and Percival. Merlin giggles again, seemingly all too caught up in the game as he hides back behind Arthur, still thinking Lancelot will come after him. 

“Fun?” Arthur asks incredulously as he turns to try and get Merlin out from behind him. The little boy just goes with him, managing to stay out of Arthur’s line of vision until the King lifts a leg up and bends to look between them, “Merlin!” he scolds, grabbing the boy’s arm and hauling him in front of him, “are you quite finished?”

Merlin looks up at Arthur with big eyes, no longer laughing or smiling but looking nervous as he nods quickly. Arthur pauses for a moment, caught off guard by something he’s never quite noticed before. Maybe it’s the sun that’s beating down on Merlin’s cheeks or the fact that he’s paler now as a boy (if that was even possible) but there’s a smattering of barely there freckles that form across the bridge of his nose and spread out across his pinking cheeks. They’re tiny and could maybe only be considered a dusting but they’re there and the sight of them has Arthur blinking in confusion. 

He doesn’t remember Merlin having freckles.

But the sight of them has captured Arthur’s attention and suddenly he’s not angry or annoyed. His heart does this very odd, very uncalled for, fluttering and a nagging voice in the back of his mind whispers, ‘adorable.’

The King shakes his head, freeing himself of such ludicrous thoughts. He absentmindedly ruffles Merlin’s hair and forces him to step aside before walking away from the circle of knights. 

“I’m done for the day. Leon? Take over.” 

“Yes, Sire,” Leon responds obediently and orders the men back on the fields. Gwaine pinches Merlin’s cheek as he passes and Elyan also ruffles his hair. Merlin reaches up to comb it back down the best he can. It’s thicker now in his younger form and far more untamable. He vaguely remembers his mum getting after him about that. 

“Merlin, let’s go.” Arthur orders, already unstrapping what bits of his armour he could. Merlin catches up dutifully, turning to wave goodbye to Lancelot when the knight sends him a wink. 

Just like how it was when Arthur and Merlin were first walking through the castle to get to the training fields, servants and other castle occupants give them strange stares on the way back up. Since the council meeting where Merlin first exposed his mistake word had gotten around. But while everyone had heard what Merlin had done to himself it was another thing to see it with their own eyes. 

Many castle residents were shocked. Some rolled their eyes (Merlin stuck his tongue out at a few who did) and others just tsked empathically. But overall, many were perplexed at the sight of a child among the castle walls. Whether it was Merlin or not. There hadn’t been children in the castle since Arthur and Morgana were young. Even the young servants who came to learn a skill before working for nobles were of proper age. 

It was Merlin’s clumsiness that caused people to put all eyes on him when he was an adult and hadn’t told anyone of his magic. Then, it was his magic that caused people to put all eyes on him when he was an adult. 

Now it was his age and Merlin wasn’t fond of it. 

When they get to Arthur’s chambers, Merlin climbs up on his designated step stool chair and begins undoing Arthur’s armour, allowing the King to pull it all off and set it in a pile beside them. “I’ll send for George,” Arthur says, gesturing to the armour, knowing Merlin wouldn’t be able to carry it all down to be polished and cleaned. Merlin thinks he could make the armour walk itself down with his magic and they could avoid calling for George altogether. 

But even though Arthur had come to accept and even request Merlin’s magic at times, he still wasn’t 100% comfortable with seeing it. Not all the time. And given the King seemed to be in a sour mood already Merlin figured it best not to irk him any further. 

“Come,” Arthur commands, grabbing Merlin off the chair and placing him on the ground. The action seems to stop the King in his tracks, bewildered at himself and looking to Merlin awkwardly, “sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Merlin mumbles, also slightly weirded out but honestly he probably wouldn’t have even thought twice about it if Arthur hadn’t made a little scene. “Where are we going?”

Arthur waves him along, heading out the door, “to see Gaius. You need to be an adult again. This is too odd.”

“Right.” Merlin marches after him, following him down the corridors until they reach Gaius and his shared chambers. Arthur politely knocks on the door but doesn’t wait for a response as he opens it seconds after, walking in like he owns the place.

Gaius is busy. But not reading or reciting spells like they had thought. Instead, he looks to be packing. Gaius shoots up from where he was bent over a sack of what looked like clothes and books, looking at the King and his ward as though they were intruders. 

“Oh!” Gaius stands and bows slightly, “Sire.” He turns his attention to Merlin cautiously, “Merlin.”

“Hi, Gaius!” Merlin says cheerfully, waving and Arthur nods, “Gaius, what are you doing?” 

“Well, I-” Gaius pauses, looking back at the mess of his packed things before sighing and letting his shoulders deflate, “I’ll be back soon.”

“You’re leaving?” Merlin asks, his boyish features contorted in concern, “but why? Where are you going?”

“I’m afraid I’m a bit out of my league here, Merlin. I can’t seem to find anything that will help reverse this spell. Usually, you’re here with me to figure things like this out. Without you… well.. I’m lost.” 

“But where are you going?” Merlin steps forward, grabbing Gaius’s sleeve and tugging on it for the old man to come down to his level. Gaius just pats the top of his head, “I have a friend in an outlying village. A powerful sorceress who just might be able to help. She and I worked together back before the ban on magic. If I remember correctly she has dealt with aging and deaging spells before.” 

“But- But how long are you gonna be gone? I’ll come with you!”

“No. It’s too dangerous and you’re far too-”

“Don’t say little!” Merlin cuts him off, tears already gathering in his blue eyes, “I’m not! I’m still me, Gaius! You can’t go alone! I can’t be here, alone!” 

“Merlin,” Arthur tries, reaching forward to grasp the little boy’s shoulder. Merlin just yanks it free from his fingers, “no! You can’t go, not without me!” 

“I’m sorry, my boy. You’re not going.” 

“You can’t tell me not to! I’m a- I’mma-”

“Boy, Merlin,” Gaius supplies, cupping his cheek gently, “you’re a boy. It’s safest for you here. I know the way. I’ll only be gone a week.”

“A week?!” Arthur and Merlin repeat together, both looking at the physician as if he had just slapped them. 

“Hold on Gaius, a week?” Arthur says again, “what do we do with Merlin until then?”  
“Watch over him. Feed him. I’m not quite sure, Sire. I’m not a nursemaid.” 

“Well neither am I,” Arthur retorts, crossing his arms, “and I don’t think we’ve had any in the castle for years. Who’s to watch him?”

Gaius cocks his head to the side, giving Arthur a look the King knows all too well. 

“No. Gaius, no. I’m King and what I say goes and the answer is no.” 

“You want him to stay like this forever do you?”

“No!”

“Then you must find someone to watch him or do it yourself, Sire. I can’t take him. Not in my old age.” 

Arthur stares at him, finally seeing the desperation in Gaius’s old, tired eyes. The journey will be long and grueling enough for the old man as is. Not that Arthur had thought of sending Merlin with him anyways. He knows the trek would be too dangerous for a child. But the thought of having a young Merlin running around without Gaius was… daunting. 

Finally, Arthur relents with a sigh, nodding seriously as he says, “fine. Alright. Guinevere I’m sure can handle it.” 

“Sure thing, Sire.” Gaius tells him and turns to a pouty Merlin, resting his hand on top of the boy’s head and looking down at him intently, “it’ll only be a little while Merlin. Behave.” 

Gaius gathers his things and follows Arthur out the door, the King assuring Gaius safe travels by promising to send a few of his knights along with him. Gaius says something back, Merlin’s not listening as he trails sadly behind them. All he can think about is a week being stuck like this and no Gaius. There were many fears and worries the little boy was feeling. But one burning question made its way to the front of his young mind. 

Who was going to tuck him in at night?


	4. Chapter 4

Watching Gaius ride off on his horse, flanked by a few knights Merlin only hardly knew, left a sinking feeling in his tummy as though he had swallowed rocks. He stood quietly between the King and Queen, hand and hand with Guinevere who bends down to whisper in his ear words of comfort. 

“This isn’t forever, Merlin,” she tells him sincerely, “Gaius will come back shortly and you’ll be back to your old self.”

Merlin wishes he could believe that but in his little mind everything feels like forever. 

Gaius looks back, giving Merlin one last wave before trotting off with the knights and out the courtyard. Civilians gather to watch them go, always enthralled with caravans of nobility marching through. Merlin sees a few young boys running after them, laughing and pushing each other as they go. He wonders if maybe he ought to join them, embrace this role of boyhood and give in to whatever it is that makes life so fun and free of burden. 

Instead, he follows after Guinevere when she gently tugs him along, taking each large step up the castle with more caution than any of the adults. He used to be able to take two at a time when he was rushing after Arthur. But now he’s careful of even one. 

Once inside the castle, the Queen releases his hand and turns to Arthur expactantly, for the first time appearing unsure of the whole thing. Arthur’s looking back at her, opening and closing his mouth, reminding Merlin much of a fish. He feels the corners of his lips tug upwards at that. 

Arthur claps his hands together, turning to Merlin looking even more unsure than his wife, “no more arguments, Merlin. You’ve got the day off. Do with it as you please. You’re welcome.” 

And with that the King turns to march off, feeling pleased with himself until Guinevere clears her throat and effectively stops him in his tracks. He turns back to her, a ‘what?’ clear on his face. She pointedly sends a look down at Merlin. 

Arthur just stares at her. 

“Oh come on,” she drawls, “he shouldn’t be alone.”

“Why not? He’s been plenty of times before?” 

“Hardly,” the Queen snorts.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“When was the last time Merlin got a day off?”

“Yeah!” Merlin pipes up, smirking at Arthur when the King glares at him. 

“He’s hardly ever alone, he’s always with you Arthur and plus... he’s a child now. You can’t just leave a child to their own devices.” 

“Well what do you want me to do, Guinevere? He can’t write my speeches or consult with nobles on my behalf. Not like this.”

“He was never supposed to before as a servant but you always overlooked that, didn’t you? Now you need to overlook this. He’s your friend, Arthur. Have some compassion.” 

“Yeah..” Merlin repeats but this time quietly, his chin tucked into his chest as his fingers play with the frayed edges of his scarf. 

Arthur absolutely hates it when Guinevere scolds him. He hated it even more when she was right. And the guilty feeling eating away from inside him told him she was very much right. 

The King drops his gaze to Merlin and the two lock eyes. Arthur wishes he could remain firm, brush this entire situation off with a wave of his hand and have Merlin deal with the whole thing on his own. That’s how it had been for all those years the warlock had lied to him and never told Arthur of his magic. He never needed the King then why should now be any different? Magic wasn’t Arthur’s forte and yet Merlin always seemed to make it so. 

But, at last, he can’t. Not while Merlin, in this childlike state, was looking back at him with such big, blue, innocent eyes. Merlin’s always had this uncanny ability to somehow, even at almost 30, portray this certain kind of innocence one might only find within a small youth. But Merlin actually being that youth magnified it beyond restraint. The King can feel his resolve melting, along with his cold and apathetic front. He almost wants to stomp his foot and throw his hands up but Merlin’s the child here, not him. 

Right?

“He’s your friend too,” Arthur points out though he knows arguing is pointless, Gwen’s already made up her mind. “Why can’t you keep him?” 

“I have to meet with the ladies after noon,” Guinevere explains. The Queen, since taking the throne alongside Arthur, had made it a priority to be not only charitable to the village people, but sit down with them daily to hear their questions and concerns. She mostly met with women, giving them a voice in a world they often felt shushed in. At first, the little meet and greets were open to whomever had something to get off their chest. But, eventually, Guinevere had formed a little following among some consistent village ladies who had not only concerns but ideas. 

Arthur was skeptical at first but after some prodding from Merlin took to the idea quite well. It was nice hearing from all walks of life among his subjects. 

“He can’t accompany you?” Arthur asks, quickly earning a look from Gwen that told him he best not push it. 

“It’s women Arthur. All women.”

“Hardly seems fair,” Arthur mumbles, more to himself, but finally gives in. “Fine. Merlin, your day off is revoked. You can thank Guinevere. I’ll have you tidy up my room while I work at my desk. Let’s go.” 

Merlin’s not entirely thrilled about the idea of cleaning up Arthur’s messy room but he can’t hide the relief of spending his time with someone who he knew all too well. Maybe if he busied himself enough he could, for a time, forget this whole thing. 

As he goes to head off, Guinevere places a kiss upon a grumpy Arthur’s cheek, smiling at him when he hums in reply. She catches Merlin off guard when she gives his little cheek a peck as well, causing his skin to turn pink under his freckles as he pulls his scarf up to eyes and hurries off after Arthur. 

Gwen giggles, watching them go. 

Once in Arthur’s chambers, the King gets busy instructing Merlin to do this and do that and make sure not to forget about this and that and honestly Merlin’s little mind zones him out somewhere along the way. 

“Start with these,” Arthur says, catching Merlin’s attention again and plopping a small load of clothes into the little boy’s arms. Luckily they appear clean but Merlin still doesn’t appreciate the tunic that lands on top of his head. 

He pulls it off to glare at Arthur once more, “what do you want done with these?”

“Folded, of course,” Arthur tells him like it’s obvious, “and put them away properly. You made a mess this morning throwing all my clothes out like that. Only fair you should pick it all up. Don’t pout.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. Right there, that’s a pout.” Arthur points a finger at Merlin’s downturned lips.

“It’s not a pout,” Merlin argues back, adjusting the weight of the clothes in his arms. Arthur smirks at him, “yes it is. Clear as day. Trust me, I know your pout. Little or not, it’s the same.”

“Well this is a lotta work you’re asking a child, ya know.”

“You said you wanted to keep your job. This is your job. Get to it,” says Arthur, walking over to his work desk and settling down into his chair, gathering piles of scrolls and quills together before grabbing one from the top and opening it with a frown. Merlin thinks he already looks stressed and it’s just the first one. 

The warlock gets busy attempting to push all of Arthur’s clothes on the top of the King’s dining table, having to stand on his tiptoes to reach. Then, Merlin climbs into the nearby chair, sitting on his knees as he grabs a shirt and begins the process of trying to fold it as neatly as possible. It’s difficult. The shirt is big enough it could wrap around Merlin twice or more. Arthur was rather broad as is and he preferred his shirts on the baggier side. Something Merlin never minded until now. 

Arthur’s watching him struggle from across the room, fingers to his temple, for the first time feeling a sense of pity for his friend. Merlin tries, Arthur will give him that, but even the most simple tasks are a feat for him. 

Then again, Merlin wasn’t the best at laundry to start with (or really any of his chores) but Arthur still feels bad.

It’s well into the evening when Merlin finally cracks. 

“No.”

“No? What do you mean ‘no’? I said yes.”

Merlin stomps his foot, “no! I don’t wanna.” 

“Don’t do that, it looks ridiculous. Eat it!” 

“No!” Merlin takes off, running from the table Arthur and him had been having dinner at. Arthur truly thought he was being the nice guy here. After spending the afternoon cleaning and picking up Arthur’s room the King honestly thought he was doing the generous thing of having dinner brought up for the both of them. While he had asked Merlin to dine with him on occasions before it wasn’t often and given the little boy was hardly able to get any food for himself in the state he was in Arthur thought surely Merlin would thank him. 

But he didn’t. Not really. And he only ate what he saw fit. Now, let it be known, Merlin was always a scrappy eater. He often avoided meat, tended to only really drink water (though Gwaine was able to convince him to have a few pints here and there) and rarely ate as much as Arthur. It honestly troubled the King at first, sometimes still did when he thought the warlock’s face looked particularly gaunt, but he got used to it. Mostly. He never claimed to understand it, he figured he never would. He was someone who could always eat his weight in food. Maybe it was because he was always forced to by his father’s demand, ‘a healthy king comes from a healthy stalk.’ And maybe Merlin’s appetite was smaller cause growing up he simply never had enough to eat. Perhaps his stomach adjusted to what he had. Or didn’t have. 

But right now, Merlin was little and he had plenty. He was just choosing to be difficult and maybe in his real childhood it was easy enough to get away with not eating all your dinner when your dinner was only a few morsels. But Arthur had servants bring up pork, squash and potatoes, enough to feed a small army, and by god Merlin was gonna eat it.

At least more than just a few bites. 

Arthur gives chase after his tiny manservant (boyservant?) and catches him under the armpits before he can dive under Arthur’s bed, “ah ha!” 

Merlin gasps at being picked up, AGAIN, “A-Arthur! Let me down!” 

“Eat your supper!” he fires back, holding Merlin out in front of him as he quickly walks the boy back over to the table, Merlin squirming and kicking the whole way. 

“You can’t make me! I don’t want to, I’m not hungry!” 

“You ate my pastries earlier just fine!”

“That was… different. This stuff is gross!”

Arthur plops the boy down in his chair, pushing it in until Merlin’s chest is pressed into the side of the table, “it is not, Merlin, don’t be rude. Gaius said to feed you. So eat. Maybe you won’t be so stringy and scrawny when you turn back into your normal self.” 

“That’s just the way I am, leave me alone!”

“Hey!” Arthur scolds, pointing his finger in Merlin’s face, effectively causing the boy to go cross eyed for a second, “don’t raise your voice. It’s high and squeaky and makes my ears hurt. Even more so than usual. Now, finish your dinner. That’s an order. From your King. Say no again and I’ll… I’ll let you spend a night in the dungeon.” 

The threat was thrown out many times before in the past, Arthur always joking about tossing Merlin below the castle or sticking him back in the stocks. Everyone knew they were empty threats, more for entertainment than anything else. Including Merlin. Before. 

Now the words, paired with the fact it was another long day for the little warlock, and the feeling of being overwhelmed for reasons Merlin truly couldn’t understand himself, caused tears to gather in his eyes. He knew it was foolish. He knew he was being a big baby. But Merlin didn’t care anymore. He threw his head down in his hands, his tiny shoulders shaking slightly as he fought sobs. 

Arthur stands still, all the fight knocked out of him in an instant, feeling suddenly very shocked at Merlin’s reaction and at a loss of what to do now. 

And, also, feeling like a complete ass. 

“Merlin- I- what are you doing… hey, don’t cr-”

Arthur’s attempt at soothing is cut short when his door is opened and his wife and brother-in-law waltz in, sharing a laugh at God knows what before their eyes land on a ruffled Arthur and a very obviously upset little Merlin. 

“Arthur!” Gwen immediately accuses, rushing over to the little boy and pushing Arthur out of the way, “what have you done?”

“I haven’t don-”

“Sh sh sh, there, there Merlin. What’s happened?” Guinevere coos to the little boy, gently grasping his shoulders and encouraging him to lift his head and face her. Merlin looks at her pitfully, “I d-don’t wanna g-go to the dungeon.” 

“Dungeon?” Gwen asks incredulously, sending daggers at her husband, “did you tell him that?” 

Arthur pales, “I didn’t mean it. He knows that! Merlin, you know that!” 

“Way to go,” Elyan says, standing beside the King looking cross. Arthur’s never felt so outmatched and he’s gone head to head with Morgana’s army. 

“I didn’t mean it!” he repeats, flabbergasted and throws his hands up, “I say that to him all the time. He usually says something just as idiotic back!” 

Gwen squats down, taking Merlin into her embrace and brushing her fingers through the back of his hair. Elyan grabs Arthur’s elbow, dragging him away from the two of them and giving him a look of what appears to be pity. 

“Sire, if I may,” he begins cautiously, not usually the one to speak out against the King (at least not to his face), “have you tried not treating him like the adult he currently isn’t? I know it’s… odd… but perhaps Merlin doesn’t have a handle on things like he thinks he does.”

Arthur blinks. “What?”

“Is it so crazy to believe he’s actually a little boy. A real, sensitive child that wouldn’t respond well to threats and yelling?” 

Arthur shrugs, “it worked for me as a boy.”

“Did it?” Elyan asks, his tone going high with doubt which causes Arthur to click his tongue and awkwardly put his hands on his hips for lack of anything better to do, shifting his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. He didn’t like speaking of his childhood much. 

It’s Elyan’s turn to shrug, “Look, all I’m saying is… lighten up a little.”

The King looks to his knight. Elyan’s eyes are soft, caring in a way that reminds him so much of Guinevere. Elyan’s always been a tender soul and honestly Arthur admired him for that deep down. 

Arthur doesn’t respond, just slaps Elyan on the shoulder a few times and turns back to his wife and saddened boyservant (it was starting to stick). Guinevere stands up, slowly taking her arms from around Merlin and holding his hand once more. “He’s tired and it’s getting late, I think I’ll bring him to his room, put him down for the night.”

“I’ll do it,” Arthur interjects, earning three pairs of eyes as though he had just said something outrageous. And maybe he did, especially after being the cause of Merlin’s tears a moment ago. But he’s already said it and he never goes back on his word. Guinevere looks unsure, pulling Merlin closer to her in the slightest and Arthur won’t lie, it kind of hurts to think his wife felt she had to protect Merlin from him. That’s not how it was. Arthur protected Merlin from others. That’s how it had always been (even if Merlin was secretly the one protecting him, Arthur doesn’t like to comment on it.) 

“Don’t worry,” Arthur tells her sincerely, “I won’t threaten him to go to bed.”

Gwen squints her eyes at him but holds Merlin’s little hand out to her husband. Arthur makes a face at that, was he really supposed to take Merlin’s hand? The boy was capable of walking himself. He’s about to voice that when Merlin releases Gwen’s and walks over to take Arthur’s, almost without even thinking of it as he uses his scarf to wipe away some of his tears and squeezes Arthur’s fingers securely in his. 

“Uh… okay,” Arthur mumbles, cheeks burning slightly at Guinevere’s quiet ‘aw.’ Elyan looks like a proud father, smiling and nodding approvingly as if Arthur just did the work of a saint. He rolls his eyes, turning and gently tugging Merlin along. The little boy follows without complaint, never saying a word as they leave Arthur’s chambers and begin the walk to his and Gaius’s. 

Arthur wonders, as Merlin’s grip on his fingers tighten, if he should apologize. He doesn’t do it often but he’s not ashamed when he does. And it seems like a good time. Just the two of them walking the quiet corridors together, only Merlin’s occasional sniffles here and there. He looks down at his tiny friend, only seeing the top of inky black hair, nervous that if he brings the topic back up Merlin may cry again. 

Right when Arthur is about to open his mouth and form together a formal ‘sorry’ he realizes they’re already at Gaius’s door, Merlin having let go of his hand in favor of pushing on it the best he can but the door is too heavy for him to get any real results. Arthur places one hand high above both of Merlin’s, quietly pushing lightly and quickly taking his hand away before Merlin can notice it, satisfied when the little boy seems content with his accomplishment. 

It’s a little smile but Arthur won’t take it away from him. 

In the room, Merlin turns to him, his tears having dried and his eyes looking tired and cheeks pale. Did all little children lose energy like this so quickly or was it just Merlin? He looked ready to drop at any moment and that just didn’t seem Merlin-like. Usually the idiot was still bouncing around Arthur’s room at this hour, preparing him for bed and cracking jokes. Arthur wasn’t a fan of this side of Merlin.

“Alright well… off you go,” Arthur tells him, gesturing in the direction of Merlin’s bedroom, waiting for the little boy to scurry off and then he’d head back to his room and finish his own dinner up. He had to stop halfway through when Merlin refused his pork. 

Merlin looks to his open door, revealing nothing but darkness on the other side and looks back up at Arthur with fear in his eyes, “c-can you come with me? For a little bit?” he asks in a small voice, even smaller than usual, and the request has Arthur tilting his head, “what?”

“Just until I fall asleep? Please? I’ll do anything you ask if you stay, I don’t- don’t like the dark much.” 

The sentiment is so… pitiful. Yet somehow also endearingly innocent and Arthur, once again, feels a fluttering in his chest he isn’t particularly fond of. 

“I’ll, uh… alright. I’ll stay.” Merlin seems to light up at that, eyes brightening and lips turning upwards as he grabs Arthur’s hand once more, dragging him to and up the stairs. Merlin lets go once they’re in his room and, in a rather demanding tone, tells Arthur to turn around so he can take his shirt off BUT not to leave. Arthur’s confused but does it anyway, only muttering to himself about a ‘bossy little prat’ when Merlin tells him he’s okay to turn back round. Merlin’s just in his trousers, crawling up to the head of his bed and Arthur cocks an eyebrow. Whatever logic Merlin had in Arthur turning around only for Merlin to be shirtless when he was allowed to look was beyond Arthur. 

Merlin snuggles himself down in his bedding, pulling his quilty up to his chest and watching as Arthur grabs a chair at the nearby desk, swinging it around and sitting down close enough he hopes allows for Merlin to feel safe. A moment of silence passes before Arthur grins.

“So… afraid of the dark huh?” 

Arthur can see Merlin’s blush even in the darkened room, “yes,” he admits quietly, sliding down into his quilt. The King rolls his eyes, “it’s fine, Merlin,” he says among a sigh, “I was too.” 

“Really?” Merlin asks, inquisitive all of a sudden, his interest peaked as he comes back out from his blanket, “when?”

“When I was little.” 

“How little?”

“Guess your kinda little.” 

“What did you do?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“When you were afraid of the dark. What did you do?”

Arthur shrugs, nonchalant as he kicks his feet up on Merlin’s bed and crosses his arms, “nothing. Just… got through it.”

“On your own?” 

Arthur nods. 

“But- what about your father?”

“What about him?”

“He didn’t hold you?” 

The question catches Arthur off guard so much he visibly jumps, as if Merlin asking was a physical attack. “Course not. He wouldn’t- that’s a ridiculous thing to ask, Merlin.” 

Merlin’s brows pinch together, looking at Arthur as though he were the odd one here, “why?”

“Because it just is.”

“Cause why?” 

“Because… I don’t know. He was the King. He couldn’t just come hold me every night I was afraid.” 

A moment of silence passes.

“Why?” 

“Weren’t you dead tired a few minutes ago?” Arthur deadpans, feeling irritated by the series of unnecessary questions. Merlin nods and makes a show of it by snuggling even further into his pillow, looking up at the ceiling with a little smile. 

“My mumma held me.” 

“Good for you.” Arthur doesn’t mean to sound so cold but the statement seemed almost like a brag. 

“I miss her,” Merlin nearly whispers, tucking his chin into his sheets. Arthur stares hard at him, his jaw clenching and unclenching. He and Merlin didn’t speak much of their parents together. But Arthur had met Hunith and he wasn’t surprised at all to hear the woman held her terrified son at night. A part of him felt grateful, oddly enough. Knowing that little Merlin was always cared for at least by someone who loved him. But another part of him couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. Not bitterly so or anything like that. Just a sad kind of jealous. 

“Me too,” Arthur whispers back and Merlin, even being so young, doesn’t need clarification. He knows Arthur means his own mum. Even if the poor King had never truly met his living, breathing mother, Merlin knew he always missed her. Even if this was the first time he’d said it out loud. 

“Sleep,” Arthur instructs, plastering on a smirk as he leans back in his chair, “enough of this nonsense. I may not be your mother but I’m not so bad now, am I?” 

Merlin giggles at that, “so long as you don’t put me in the dungeon.” 

Arthur’s smirk softens, his eyes dropping to his lap, “I’m sorry about that… by the way. You know I don’t mean it, right?”

Merlin nods, smiling reassuringly as he turns over to face Arthur, half his face covered by his pillow. 

“Good,” Arthur says, relieved, “close your eyes. You’ve got more work in the morning and I’d like to get back to my own bed thank you.” 

Merlin whispers again, pleading, “please don’t leave.”

And to Arthur the words feel like stones somewhere in his chest. The King blinks, looking into the one eye of Merlin’s he can still see, the blue of it illuminated by the moon spilling in from the single window. He wants to say ‘I’ll stay here all night if you need me,’ knowing what he would’ve done to hear it for himself as a child. But he doesn’t, he just smiles, solemnly, and repeats,

“Sleep.”

Merlin seems to hear what is unsaid. Closing his eyes and falling into a peaceful slumber with Arthur stationed securely at his side, radiating a sense of calm only a small, sleeping child could. 

Arthur leans back as much as he can in the hard chair, allowing his own eyes to shut for a moment. 

It’s not long before his back aches and sometime after his thigh goes numb.

He stays anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first I felt like this chapter was boring but I was pleased more towards the end. I'm just trying to get beyond Arthur's struggle with being loving towards a tiny Merlin. You know like get over that bridge. If that makes sense.
> 
> Anyways, a few things, I'm not totally sure of Arthur and Merlin's age at the end of the series? Multiple different answers from multiple different sources. One even claimed Merlin was 16 at the beginning of the series and Arthur was 21. And they had a pretty solid statement. So I just guessed and stated Merlin was close to 30 by this time. Sorry if it seems off.
> 
> Also, I've hinted before in a previous story of Merlin being a vegetarian. I don't know why I like the idea of it cause I'm like not one myself or anything. But I love the idea of him being real into nature and animals and being a vegetarian just seemed fitting. 
> 
> Also, again, apologizes if Merlin seemed overdramatic on the whole dinnertime thing. It was based off my own 5 year old nephew who literally bawled his little eyes out when my sister in law attempted to make him eat his supper and he literally cried, "momma I'm so overwhelmed!" 
> 
> Cute and heartbreaking. 
> 
> He also got away with not having to eat what his mother served him that night. I wish I woulda tried that as a kid.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I have no real direction for this story. I have ideas for each chapter but there's no real like reason for any of it existing. I just think the idea of Merlin turning himself into a kid is really cute. And wanted to play around with everyone reacting to that. 
> 
> So if you're expecting like a big, dramatic climax and virtually anything really exciting, I'm sorry. It's probably just gonna be a bunch of little, fluffy moments I write as I go and have a pretty simple ending.

The next morning Arthur awakes to a room that doesn’t belong to him and wrapped up in a quilt he recognizes as his wife’s. He’s still sitting in that damned chair, partly. His upper half had must’ve fallen onto the foot of Merlin’s bed. This was by far some of the worst sleeping conditions he had ever slept in. When he sits up his back pops and his neck is sore from being bent at a weird angle all night. Arthur stretches, blinking sleep from his eyes as he rubs at his stubble and looks around Merlin's room. 

Merlin. 

It’s then the King notices his boyservant isn’t in his bed. The pillows are dented from the night before, one on the floor, and the blankets are all tossed about among the bed. But there’s no Merlin in sight. Arthur feels the start of panic rise in his chest, remembering Guinevere telling him children can’t be left to their own devices. Merlin didn’t run off did he? He wouldn’t do that.

But then again this was Merlin and Merlin was rather infamous for doing things he really probably shouldn’t. 

“Merlin?” Arthur calls out but his voice is rough from sleeping and the raspiness of it subdues his attempt. The King drops to his knees and looks under the bed, “Merlin?”

Arthur curses under his breath, standing up, clearing his throat and marching for the closed door, throwing it open and trying again, louder this time, “Merl-”

He stops when he sees his wife and Merlin seated at the table, Gwen sat by the little warlock as she looks to be cutting up his breakfast. They both look up at him together, Merlin smiling big and waving his utensil at Arthur in greeting. 

“Guinevere?” 

“Morning dear,” Gwen says lovingly, smiling at him as she finishes making Merlin’s food small and sets the knife down away from him, getting up to greet her husband with a kiss. 

Arthur sees Merlin scrunch up his nose. 

“What’s going on?” he asks her, clearly still reeling from waking up, sore and all. Gwen pulls him to the table, “breakfast. Are you hungry?” 

“I-... yes. Did you do all this?” Arthur asks, surprised, gesturing to all the food set out on the table. Gwen blushes a bit with a nod, “yes well Merlin was hungry and I didn’t want to bother the cooks so early.” 

Arthur had no idea what time it actually was. The sun was up, he could see that, but it seemed like it had just risen. The birds weren’t even up yet and from the opened windows the courtyard below seemed quiet. 

Arthur surely was never up this early.

The King takes a seat across from Merlin and Gwen, looking down at all the food with raised brows. Sometimes, he forgets Guinevere had such skills. She hadn’t cooked for him since they married and quite honestly he missed her cooking. He couldn’t deny that even though he was slightly crabby at being up so early he was also a little excited at eating whatever Guinevere had cooked. As he piled his plate he shot her a questionable glance. 

“When did you get here? When did you two have the time to do all this?” 

Guinevere sighed, a tired smile upon her lips as she looked to Merlin, “he’s been up for awhile. But I’ve been here since last night. I came to check on Merlin and figured I’d relieve you of having to stay the night in Gaius’s,” she gestures to the spare cot in the corner of the room, another one of her quilts laid across it, “but you both were fast asleep by then. I thought of waking you but you seemed content enough.”

The sore muscles in Arthur’s back say otherwise but he chooses not to mention it. He notices, for the first time, Gwen’s not in one of her royal gowns. Instead, she’s wearing a much more simple dress, one she usually only ever breaks out when she travels or goes to the lower village. Arthur never said it out loud but he secretly loves this look in particular on her. It reminded him of the Guinevere he had originally fallen in love with. 

“Look it,” Merlin says between chewing his eggs, and stuffs a whole fork load into his mouth, grinning with puffed cheeks as he nods, “Imfullofit.”

The whole sentence is botched but Arthur can make out the gist of it and he’s appalled by such table manners, “Merlin, no. That’s not okay. Do you want to choke?”

Merlin quickly shakes his head no, swallowing his food and muttering an apology as he goes back to smaller portions. He’s not sitting right in his chair, Arthur notices. His legs are to the side, facing Guinevere and he’s twisted at the torso as his little legs kick out slowly, absentmindedly. Arthur fights an urge to correct him. Make him sit right at mealtime, proper like a little boy growing up in a castle should. But he reframes. He doesn’t want a repeat of last night. 

Merlin’s also shirtless and barefoot (again) donning just his pants and Arthur wonders if this is typical of Merlin in the morning pre-Arthur duties or if this is just a side effect of being a child. Arthur would’ve never gotten away with such behavior as a boy. Every meal was a call for dressing up. Dining with his father was a privilege after all, not a right. Merlin seemed way more carefree as he ate away at his breakfast, giggling and smiling at Gwen when he spoke to him, teasing his bare sides with her fingers when he says something silly. 

Arthur allows himself to smile a little as he watches. A giggling little Merlin, Arthur will admit, was a tad endearing. 

“Immafullofitagain.”

Then again.

“What did I say?!” 

By the afternoon, Merlin had escaped Arthur’s clutches that were never ending with chores. He’ll admit, his chore list was smaller today in the sense he was only asked to do things Guinevere and Arthur agreed were appropriate for his age. Like helping pick up the table after breakfast, drying dishes after Gwen washed them (he only dropped one), and matching Arthur’s socks. But still, the tasks were boring and felt like forever and Merlin was just feeling so pent up with energy being inside. When he caught sight of the knights out Arthur’s window he had practically exploded in excitement, grabbing Arthur’s arm and dragging him out the room the best he could. 

Arthur, for what it was worth, didn’t fight it much. Listening as Merlin prattled on about ‘going to see the knights!’ 

And anyways the King could use a walk. Paperwork was his least favorite thing to do. 

The two of them walked through the corridors, Arthur rather lazily, hand in hand once more (Arthur was beginning to think Merlin didn’t go anywhere without holding hands). The King had his other hand tucked in his pocket and Merlin was too busy bouncing beside him, telling Arthur all about how excited he was to go outside and how it was a really pretty day and that he wanted to play with Lancelot again and really, Arthur was beginning to think Merlin was on some kind of sugar high. 

“Merlin.” 

“What?” 

“Calm down.” 

“I can’t! It’s so boring in your room,” Merlin whines, hanging from Arthur’s hand dramatically. Arthur pulls him up till the little boy’s feet are off the ground just a bit, Merlin giggling when Arthur sets him back down. “Chores, chores, chores. Don’t you have any fun?” 

Arthur rolls his eyes, tsking at him, “well that question never changes does it?” 

“I don’t know,” Merlin answers honestly, shrugging. He wasn’t totally sure what Arthur was referring to but he thinks maybe it's to do with the fact he might’ve asked something similar as an adult. He’s too excited with the idea of being outside to remember.

Or care. 

When they reach the large doors at the side of the castle that leads to perfectly kept lawns and a well maintained garden, Merlin let’s go of Arthur’s hand in favor of running to the knights who are lounging in the grass in various poses. Percival is flat out on his back, arms behind his head, Elyan is standing with Leon, both chatting about something as Elyan pulls on riding gloves, and Gwaine is sitting a little ways from Percival, chewing on a blade of grass as he pulls his leg to his chest in a stretch. Lancelot is nowhere to be found and Merlin notices that right away. 

“Where’s Lancelot?” he asks rather sadly, all the knights turning to him, obviously not expecting him to drop by. Gwaine greets him first, smiling big around the blade of grass and out stretching his arms in a gesture of welcome, “hey! It’s mini Merlin!” 

Percival sits up on his elbows, looking up at Merlin just a little bit as he says, “he hasn’t met up with us yet. Why? You alright?” 

Merlin nods, sitting down next to Percival and criss crossing his legs.

“He was feeling cooped up in the castle,” Arthur tells them, nudging Merlin playfully with his foot, “couldn’t get out fast enough.” 

“If I have to pair up one more lonely sock…” Merlin warns, face to face with Percival and gives him a look that clearly said he would not be pairing up one more lonely sock. If Merlin’s trying to look serious Percival wouldn’t know. 

“Arthur,” Gwaine says among a sigh, his tone light and full mischief, “what’s this boy gotta do to catch a break? You’ll even work a child to the brink will ya?” 

Arthur gives a half hearted shrug, leaning down to squeeze Merlin’s little biceps, “maybe when he’s big again all these chores will bulk him up.” 

Merlin leans forward, away from Arthur’s grasp and shoots him a glare that’s really no more intimidating than when a little barn kitten tries to defend itself. Arthur applauds his efforts though. 

“Where is Lancelot?” Arthur repeats Merlin’s question, looking around as if the noble knight would just magically appear at the sound of his name. Leon speaks up, “we have yet to see him today Sire, thought maybe he was reporting to you.” 

“Why?” Gwaine asks, “need a babysitter?” 

Arthur frowns at his bluntness, “Guinevere said he can’t be left alone.” He points down at Merlin who sits cluelessly among them. 

Gwaine snorts, “what, are we not good enough?”

“Well are you busy?” 

“Clearly less so than Lancelot.” 

Arthur flaps his hands at him, “I don’t care. Whoever’s willing.” 

“This is my day,” Percival admits, having since laid back down in the grass. The knights work on a rotation and today was a day Arthur’s most loyal had the time off. “He can stick around with me.” 

Merlin looks up to Arthur and innocently asks, “why can’t I watch myself?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur tells him, “something about devices. Just hang out with Percival. Behave. All that good stuff. Thanks Perc.” 

“No bother to me.” 

Arthur nods, bending down to mess up Merlin’s hair. This is after Gwen had tamed it this morning with a comb and Merlin won’t lie, he’s annoyed by Arthur’s carelessness. “mean,” Merlin mumbles to himself as he tries to re-comb it with his fingers. 

“Me?” Percival asks, squinting up from where the sun is shining on his eyes. 

“Arthur, obviously,” Gwaine tells him, shooting Merlin a smirk, “is he that bad?” 

Merlin shrugs, picking grass and sprinkling it over Pervical’s chest, “no. Guess not.” 

“We’re going riding,” Elyan tells them, nodding to Leon, “work the horses, maybe go around the town. Gwaine, wanna come?” 

“Nah, I’ll hang with Merls.” 

Elyan nods and the two head off to the stables, leaving Merlin, Percival, and Gwaine to a lazy midday lay about under a warm sky. Gwaine starts helping Merlin cover Percival in grass, the giant knight having since closed his eyes but still alert. He knew they were up to something but pretends otherwise. 

“New wardrobe, Merlin?” Gwaine asks, pointing to Merlin’s clothes. He’s in a loose fitting white tunic, having ditched the neckerchief since the day was so warm, and has a pair of light brown trousers he had Arthur roll up the pant legs of to just under his knee caps since they were too long for him. Merlin wasn’t too upset. Gaius had tried when he went to the village to get clothes he had only hoped would fit the boy. The clothes were alright. But the socks were a no go, Merlin claiming they were far too itchy even when Gwen tried to persuade him in putting them on. The King and Queen had given up not too long into it, allowing Merlin to run around barefoot if that’s truly what he wanted. He did it all the time growing up in Ealdor. It made him feel at home. 

“Yes,” Merlin admits, looking down at his white shirt just a little bit sad, he preferred blue, “Gaius gots them for me.”

Gwain hums, nodding approvingly when Merlin shows him a dandelion to put on Percival, “I heard Gaius went off to get help from a friend… you stuck with Arthur?”

“I guess.”

“Well if you ever need a break from the princess you know where I am.”

Merlin smiles at Gwaine, “thanks Gwaine.”

“Hey, wanna see something?” 

Merlin lights up at that, nodding and standing up with Gwaine, laughing when he takes off down the lawn and towards the treeline. Percival snaps his eyes open, sitting up and causing the grass and dandelions to fall from his chest as he sees Merlin heading away.

“Hey!” He calls out, “Gwaine, where are you two going?” 

“Just to the lake, don’t worry he’ll stay with me!” 

Percival reluctantly lays back down, taking notice of the little flowers that remained on top of him. He picked up a dandelion and twirled it in his fingers. Gwaine could handle a child on his own… right? And it was Merlin. 

He closes his eyes, deciding to choose a nap over worrying as he tucks the dandelion behind his ear. He only lays there for a moment or so more before his eyes pop back open. 

And it was Merlin. 

“Nope,” Percival tells himself as he scrambles to his feet and jogs off after them, “that makes it worse.” 

For what it’s worth, it’s not a lake. Gwaine just calls it that because he’s, well, Gwaine. It’s a pond, a small one, that sits not far from the castle. Down the hill and pass the gardens and through the forest. There’s a small well beaten path that leads right to it, just far enough into the woods so that all the noise and commotion of Camelot is nothing but buzzing and the occasional distant shout. The pond gives way for sunlight among the trees, providing a clearing in the thick of it all. It’s surrounded by large boulders and blessed with a sandy bottom and clear water thanks to the brook that feeds it’s mountain water right into it from the far side. The little patch of beauty isn’t known to everyone but almost all the knights are familiar with it for it’s a place most of them sneak off to when they’re off duty. In the summer months it’s a break from the hot sun and heavy armour that washes away any blood and sweat that may have clung to the knights from training. And in the colder months it’s a fun place to bring cups of mead to, drink till you’re silly and play a rousing game of who can walk across the ice and maintain their balance. 

A clear winner hasn’t been determined in years. 

But this isn’t summer or winter it’s somewhere in between and when the three of them arrive Percival is more than just surprised to see Gwaine rip his shirt off and begin to untie his pants. 

“Gwaine!” Percival scolds, quickly reaching out to cover Merlin’s young eyes, “there is a child present! What are you doing?”

Gwaine rolls his eyes, “I’m not stripping down completely, don’t worry.” He stands back up straight when he’s only in his braies that stop somewhere before his knees. Percival lets out a sigh of relief, “oh.” 

Merlin lifts his hand off his eyes with both of his, sending Percival a tiny glare before looking to Gwaine with a tilted head. Gwaine sends him a playful wink, “wanna go for a swim?”

Merlin’s eyes light up a bit but he seems unsure as he puts a little finger to his lips. Percival frowns at his comrade, “Gwaine you can’t be serious. It’s not the proper weather for this.”

“It’s warm enough.”

“Maybe in the sun.”

“There’s sun,” Gwaine tells him and points to the sunrays streaming in between the leaves and the clearing in the middle of the pond that causes the water to twinkle, “see? I bet the water is refreshing.” 

Percival still seems unsure and his eyes pop out when Merlin begins to struggle to take his shirt off, Gwaine cheering in approval. “Merlin, no!” Percival quickly tells him, adjusting the shirt back below his chin. Little Merlin looks at him offended. 

“Why not?” he all but whines, looking up to the giant knight with big, pleading eyes, “it sounds fun.”

“What if you catch a cold?” Percival asks, looking back at what little of the castle he can see through the woods, “Arthur wouldn’t like this. We should head back.” 

“Chicken!” and suddenly the back of Percival’s head is drenched. He whips around with a hard glare, seeing Gwaine floating around the water a mere few meters out. The fool had splashed him. 

“Oy! Knock it off, Gwaine. I’m in charge of Merlin and I doubt the King would be happy if I returned him ridden with some sort of illness.” 

“Arthur won’t mind!” the little voice to his side pipes up. Merlin grabs Percival’s hand in both of his swinging it between them as he stands up on his tip toes and gives Percival his best puppy dog look. 

And oh god. 

If adult Merlin was hard enough to say no to (which he was) little Merlin was near impossible. 

Percival can feel himself giving in. He bites his lip, trying to look away when suddenly Merlin says in an even tinier voice than normal, “pleeeeease Percy?”

“Gah! How dare the both of you!” Percival finally cracks, sagging his shoulders and lolling his head to the side to give Gwaine a look of defeat, “fine. But if he goes back to Arthur coughing, Gwaine, you-”

“I know, I know,” Gwaine says, waving him off with a hand dripping in water, “I’ll take blame. C’mon Merls!”

Merlin smiles, going back to wrestle himself out of his tunic. Percival watches for a moment with his arms crossed before he shakes his head and reaches down to pull the shirt off himself, Merlin tossing him a nod in thanks. The boy hops around as he takes one leg out of his trousers, finally sitting on his bum and pulling on them before tossing them to the side, standing close to the water’s edge in his own braies. His smile suddenly fades when he looks down at the water lapping up against the small, sandy shoreline. He looks up to see Gwaine still floating around, in water that perhaps only goes up to his waist but has leaned back, giving the illusion that the water was up to his chin. 

Gwaine quirks a brow, hit with the sudden and very obvious realization that of course little Merlin wouldn’t know how to swim. Not really. Gwaine swims closer, reaching his arms out and jutting his chin towards Merlin, “c’mon, I’ve gotcha little lad.” 

Merlin blushes at the term of endearment but cautiously takes a step into the cool, pond water. It gets colder the more Merlin wades in and it sends a shiver up his spine but, surprisingly, it’s a welcoming cold. He’s up to his chest when he’s within Gwaine’s reach and his older friend gently picks him up under his arms, keeping Merlin out in front of him as he uses his feet to kick them back further into the water, Merlin letting a squeal followed by a giggle when the cool water tickles his belly. Gwaine laughs with him before dunking half his face into the water, eyes on the little boy as bubbles float up from his lips. Merlin’s watching him closely, trying to figure out what he’s doing before Gwaine pops back up and shoots a little spray of water at the boy’s face. 

Merlin laughs, a true, boyish laugh as he turns away and wipes his face. He copies Gwaine, gulping in a mouthful of water before shooting it back at the knight who pretends to be shocked. 

“Not too far, Gwaine!” Percival shouts to him from shore, “and keep a good grip on him!” 

“Why don’t you come in here!” Gwaine yells back, shifting Merlin around until the little boy is settled on his back, wrapping his arms around Gwaine’s neck with a big smile, taking in more water and filling his cheeks till they’re as puffy as a chipmunk and pushing it out at the back of Gwaine’s head. “You little runt!” Gwaine chuckles, pretending to lean backwards which causes Merlin to cling tighter to his neck. 

Percival grunts, a smile playing at his lips as he looks around almost as if he thinks Arthur will magically appear and chastise them all. “C’mon, Percival, don’t be a ninny!” 

Merlin wipes the water from his face and sends a beaming grin at the big knight, “Perc- Perciv-... Percy! Please come in!” he calls out, never minding his stumble over the man’s name. Some words were just too complicated for his little tongue. 

For the third time that day Percival gives in, mumbling to himself as he begins to undress, much like Merlin and Gwaine had done. While he does so, Gwaine quickly takes advantage of the fact Percival can’t see them when he pulls his shirt over his head and turns to whisper to the little boy, “take a big gulp, we’ll get him together.”

Merlin nods, eager to play, and takes water in his mouth when Gwaine dunks them just enough. Once Percival has his boots, shirt, and trousers off he makes his way into the water, hissing at the chilliness and mentally praying Arthur doesn’t lecture him about this later. Once he’s up to his waste, he dives in, hoping that going under quickly will help him adjust faster. He stays under for a moment, enjoying the peaceful silence one finds when surrounded by water. 

When he comes back up he rubs a hand over his buzzed hair and the other at his eyes, blinking the water away and looks for Gwaine and Merlin. 

They’ve vanished and that causes Percival to knit his eyebrows together, slightly concerned as he quickly looks around. He’s about to whirl around when he feels a stream of pressurized water hitting the back of his head. He turns to see Gwaine, Merlin still attached to his back, and the both of them are throwing Percival cheeky grins, proud of themselves for their stealth mission success. 

“Got em!” Gwaine exclaims. 

“Got em!” Merlin copies, giggling when Gwaine bounces him on his back, making a show of fake laughing at Percival’s expense. In retaliation, Percival sends a practical tidal wave of water at them with just his arm, smirking when Gwaine splutters, taking the brunt of it since Merlin so strategically hid himself behind Gwaine’s head. 

“Fair enough,” Gwaine says as he spits out some water. It’s Percival’s turn to share a laugh. 

What originally was going to be a quick dip for Percival turned into a few good hours of fun and splashing around, particularly for little Merlin who eventually got brave enough to venture away Gwaine, staying in the swallower end with at least one of the knights as he relearned how to somewhat swim. Gwaine or Percival always stayed within an arm's length, ready to snatch him up if they felt he got too brave or stayed underwater for too long. Percival grabbed him more times than Gwaine, panic clear on his face as he held Merlin up above the water. 

“Relax, Perce,” Gwaine had told him, stretched out upon the water’s surface on his back, “he was fine that time.” 

Merlin thought of it as a game, laughing as he was held high above the water, “throw me, Percy!” he demands in a fit of giggles. 

“Uh,” Percival starts, not entirely sure he really wanted to throw Merlin into the water. The boy kind of struggled as is. 

Gwaine rolls from his back, arms out and slapping the water, “right here,” he instructs and Percival gently tosses Merlin so the boy lands somewhere between Gwaine’s outstretched arms, the other knight grabbing the boy under the arms and bringing him back above water with a swishing sound. Merlin emerges still giggling (he really hasn’t stopped) the water droplets cascading down his face as he demands for more. 

Gwaine smiles, nodding to Percival who copies what his friend had done and opens his arms. Merlin’s tossed back between Percival’s, going below the surface for just a moment before the larger knight scoops him back up, his infectious laughter catching on among them. 

They muck around some more like that, basically doing whatever little Merlin wanted. The boy was hard to deny when he magnified his cuteness every time he requested something. But eventually his shivering becomes rather apparent, his teeth chattering when he speaks and his lips a tinge blue. Percival puts his foot down. 

“Okay, I think that’s enough for today. You’ll catch your death out here if you stay any longer.” 

“N-noo-oo” Merlin complains amongst his shivers, floating beside Gwaine who scoops him up without warning, walking out of the water, “Percival’s right this time. You’re gonna turn into an icicle.” 

“W-will n-not,” Merlin protests but it’s weak. He doesn’t want to admit it cause he was having so much fun with the two of them but he had started to tire a bit ago, having to cling to the knights more and more as he went. 

Gwaine holds him until they’re out of the water, placing the little boy down on the sand and quickly drying him off with Gwaine’s own shirt, spending extra time on his hair so the boy doesn’t truly catch a cold. It’s really not that bad out. Late spring can be quite warm around here but Gwaine will admit they did spend more time in the water than he had planned. 

When he’s done with Merlin’s hair he busts out in a guffaw at the sight. Merlin’s thick, black hair is going in all directions, messy and tousled like Gwaine’s never seen it before. The boy frowns, reaching up to pat it down. Gwaine reaches out to help, “here Merlin,” he says with a chuckle, “trust me, I know hair.” 

Merlin let’s him smooth it down but not much helps. His hair has a mind of its own and right now it’s protesting every attempt to calm down. Gwaine gives up, opting to dress the boy instead. Once Merlin’s in his clothes again, Percival takes a knee beside him and wraps his own shirt tight around the boy’s small frame, using it as a blanket to keep him warm. Merlin accepts it gratefully, tugging it around him and within it’s warmth his teeth stop chattering. 

Once both knights are dressed themselves (minus Percival’s shirt) the larger man offers his hand for Merlin to take, ready to lead the little boy back to the castle. Merlin’s in no mood to walk for himself though and raises his arms towards Percival. 

The knight is taken back for just a second before he shrugs and picks the little boy up, adjusting the shirt back around him when Merlin wraps his arms around Percival’s neck and lays his head on his shoulder, feeling more and more tired with every passing minute. As he feels Percival begin the walk back through the woods and to the castle, he vaguely thinks maybe this is too much, maybe he shouldn’t have wanted or worse, asked, to be picked up and carried like a toddler. But honestly, Merlin didn’t even think twice about it when he did it. It seems he just keeps falling more and more into the role of being a child and his fight against it is breaking down. His promise to himself not to succumb to this spell is slipping and, if Merlin’s telling the truth, he can’t find it in him to care anymore. 

As he begins to nod off on Percival’s shoulder he thinks this is the most at peace he’s been in a long time. 

When they return to the castle it’s bustling with servants rushing around to prepare to serve dinner to their noblemen and women. Gwaine leads the way, marching through the thinned out crowds with ease. 

“Where are we going?” Percival asks as he adjusts Merlin’s weight in his arms. He can hear the little boy’s breathing even out as he teeters somewhere between being awake and sleeping. 

“It’s getting on in the day, figured we should return Merls to the princess,” Gwaine stops a little to throw a questioning glance at Percival, “right?” 

Percival shrugs, “Gaius is gone, I’m assuming he’s staying with Arthur.” 

Gwaine nods, sending Merlin’s back a look of misfortune, “mm. Poor lad. Maybe he’d rather stay with me.” 

“That’s a mighty high thought of yourself.” 

Gwaine continues to Arthur’s chambers, “at least he has fun with me.” 

“Hey, and me.” 

“Please, you wanted to nap in the sun all day.” 

“Napping is fun. Look at Merlin, he’s having a ball doing it now.” 

Gwaine just snorts in reply, leading them up the many stairs and down the halls to where the King most likely is. Gwaine grabs the door handle, about to bust in before Percival holds out his arm to stop him, giving a look of mortification, “Gwaine, stop.” 

“Why?” 

“What if he’s naked?” 

Gwaine looks disgusted, “good call,” he says, opting to knock upon the door instead before going for the handle again when he hears a rather rough, “come!” 

When they walk in Arthur’s pacing in a small space and the Queen is sitting on his bed, watching him with a hint of humor in her eyes. They both look to Gwaine and Percival quickly, Arthur letting out a sigh of relief and dropping his hands to sides, “there you are! What the hell, Percival? I’ve been looking everywhere for you and Merlin.” 

Percival bows his head a bit, “my apologies, Sire. We, um, we went for a walk in the woods.” 

“A walk in the-” Arthur looks confused, “for goodness sakes why are you shirtless? And what happened to Merlin?” 

“We went for a swim,” Gwaine says truthfully, unashamed, “Merlin’s ready to pass out, he had a lot of fun. You shoulda seen him.” 

Gwen smiles at Gwaine and he sends her a wink. 

Arthur’s not smiling though, “it’s hardly weather for a swim, was this your bright idea, Gwaine?” 

Percival elbows him in the arm, “told you.” 

Gwen gets up from the bed, walking over to Percival and peering up at Merlin who has his eyes closed but isn’t quite asleep yet. He blinks them awake just enough to see Gwen staring at him fondly when he feels eyes on him, mumbling a tired, “hi.” 

“Hello, darling,” the Queen greets back softly, “you look ready for bed.” 

Merlin nods against Percival’s shoulder, closing his eyes once more. Percival looks around a little confused on his next move. He decides to say screw it and stalks across the room to Arthur, not even asking as he shuffles little Merlin around his arms and passes him to the King with little room for objection. 

“Wha- Percival, this isn’t-” Arthur says but scrambles to take Merlin anyways, holding him much like Percival had been but feeling and looking far more awkward about it. He jostles the boy a bit in his arms, attempting to get comfortable with the feeling of actually holding Merlin like this. For his part, Merlin doesn’t seem to notice the change, he adapts without protest and rests his head upon Arthur’s shoulder now, blinking wearily before closing his eyes. 

A moment of tense silence passes over the room before Percival nods politely to his King and gives him a tentative smile, “My Lord.” 

He puts his shirt back on, having taken it back in the ‘Merlin exchange’ and walks back to Gwaine, acknowledging Gwen with a ‘My Lady.’ Gwaine does the same, sending an impish grin to Arthur as he waves and follows Percival out, careful to shut the door quietly behind him as not to disturb Merlin.

Arthur looks to his wife, silently asking her for help. She rolls her eyes, getting busy by grabbing nightwear fit for a child, “he’ll need to change first, wake him up- Gently, Arthur- we have to keep him up for a little while longer. If he goes to bed now I fear he may wake up tomorrow even earlier than he already does,” and Gwen genuinely looks concerned at that. 

Arthur bounces Merlin gently in his arms in an attempt to get the boy out of his sleepiness, “hey. Merlin. Come now, Guinevere says you can’t sleep yet so wake up so I can put you down without you falling over, you’re heavy.” 

He wasn’t. At all. Even adult Merlin was fairly light according to Arthur. He’d know by the few times he had to carry him out of danger’s way (or many times, the idiot was always jumping into dangerous situations) but he thought maybe a little bit of teasing would help wake Merlin up. 

Merlin just groans, turning his face into Arthur’s shoulder, “that’s it, come on. What is it you say? Rise and shine, lazy daisy.” 

Merlin picks his head up at that, rubbing his eyes and blinking at Arthur as if he’s unsure who he is. Arthur’s eyes dart around, at a loss for words as he slowly sets the boy on his feet, steadying him by a shoulder when Merlin wobbles a bit. 

“There you are,” Arthur commends him, patting his shoulder before guiding him to Gwen who has clothes she had taken from Gaius’s chambers. The King backs off, letting Gwen take it from there. Merlin goes behind Arthur’s wooden folding screen to change and comes back out in linen pants, giving the top back to Gwen, still looking just as tired as before. 

Arthur titters a bit at that. This is the most Merlin’s ever been topless. As a man, Merlin was usually quite modest, complaining and blushing whenever someone gave him crap for it. But as a child he seemed to not care less. Arthur wondered what changed. He made a mental note to tease Merlin about it once he was back to his old self. 

The task of keeping a tired Merlin up until Gwen deemed it a decent hour for bed was more of a chore than Arthur would’ve imagined. Again, this was very different from the Merlin he was used to. Usually it was the other way around, Merlin keeping Arthur up so the King could finish everything he had to in a day. And for all Merlin’s grumbling and complaints Arthur really didn’t find himself that difficult to keep awake. 

Merlin was a bit miserable. He became quite grumpy the more tired he got and, even worse, more emotional. Arthur quickly learned teasing the young boy when he was like this wasn’t the best route, even if the teasing was innocently intended. 

But having dinner helped, giving Merlin something to do with his hands and waking his little brain up just a bit. He ate better tonight. Arthur still fought the urge to encourage him to eat more but decided it was improvement from the night before and that was a victory all on it’s own. When the hour comes for Merlin to go to bed he’s in a much better mood, giggling with Gwen as she tells him a story she claims her father had once told to her. Arthur’s smiling from his chair across from them, thinking how Gwen seemed her happiest among children. 

Even if the child was her deaged best friend, that bit didn’t really matter. 

“I’m going to go change in my chambers,” Gwen tells them as she gets up from where her and Merlin had been snuggled together on the sofa. Merlin grabs her hand, looking up at her with pleading eyes, “will you come back?” 

“Of course,” she tells him sweetly, caressing his cheek. He let’s her go and she turns to Arthur, “why don’t you put him to bed?” 

Arthur hums, having gotten sleepy himself listening to Gwen tell tall tales. When she leaves he uncrosses his legs and gets up, gesturing for Merlin to do the same, “c’mon then. You’ve been waiting for this for a while now.” 

Merlin gets up, expecting to walk with Arthur back to Gaius’s room but frowns when the King waves him over to the other side. There’s a cot there, not too too far from Arthur’s own bed but far enough so that Merlin had not initially seen it when he first got there. He looks up at Arthur, visibly confused. 

Arthur rubs the back of his neck, “look. Guinevere doesn’t think you should be alone. Ever. I’m starting to understand where she’s coming from but I am not spending another night in that god forsaken chair. You can sleep here until everythings back to normal…. You know, if you’re okay with that.” 

Merlin does a 180, his eyes suddenly bright as he beams at Arthur, “like a sleepover?!”

Arthur can’t help a scoff but smiles nonetheless, “I suppose.” 

Merlin’s excitement is palpable and Arthur feels a bit of pride that he could make his little friend so happy with such a simple task. “Alright, calm down. It’s not that exciting. Get in bed so Guinevere thinks I did something.” 

Merlin raises his arms, not even a tiny bit bashful. Arthur pauses for a moment but realizes it's silly at this point to deny the boy, he’s already held him once today. What's another? 

Arthur picks Merlin up with ease, settling him on hip and listening to Merlin begin to tell him about his day at the pond with Percival and Gwaine. He seems much more awake now and that worries Arthur. The King pulls the covers back and places Merlin down in the bed, bringing the blankets up to his chin, Merlin laughing at his own story when he tells Arthur of Percival’s surprise at being sprayed in the back of the head. 

“You shoulda been there!” Merlin tells him excitedly, snuggling into his bedding and sending a smile up Arthur’s way when the King takes a seat on the bed. That’s the second time he’s heard that and he shakes his head, “I had work to do. I don’t have time to waste like that anymore.”

“That’s why you have wrinkles,” Merlin tells him innocently, almost sadly like he feels bad for Arthur. The King gasps, sending Merlin an offended look, “Merlin! I do not have wrinkles, you brat.”

“Oh,” Merlin’s eyes go wide and he covers his mouth, “you don’t know.” 

Arthur scoffs, “if I have wrinkles it’s because I’m a grown man. Unlike you. You have a button nose,” Arthur pauses to squeeze Merlin’s nose between his knuckles, “and pudgy cheeks,” he then squeezes Merlin’s cheeks together, causing the boy’s lips to part and become smushed. 

Merlin grins, smacking Arthur’s hands away playfully. Arthur smiles back, reaching to ruffle Merlin’s hair, “goodnight.” 

“Already?”

“Already?” The King repeats, incredulously as he stands from Merlin’s bed and spreads his arms, “you were dying to go to bed not even a moment ago. What changed?”

Merlin shrugs, truly unsure. He just suddenly felt like he got a second wind. “Can you tell me a story?”

“A story? Hasn’t Guinevere told you enough?”

Merlin shakes his head. Arthur huffs, “I haven’t got any stories.”

“None?” 

“No, it’s time for bed.” 

“Can’t you make one up?”

Arthur lets out an over dramatic sigh, turning to Merlin with his lips in a thin line, “not really a skill of mine Merlin.” 

Merlin leans up to pat the side of his bed, “try?” he asks, his tone light and airy. Arthur takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and sits back down, letting it out as he says, “fine. You want a story? I got one. Once, there was a bumbling little warlock who listened to no one and ran around Camelot, no care in the world, getting himself into one magical calamity after another, ones he often couldn’t get himself out of. The end. Compelling, huh?” 

Merlin blinks, silent for a moment before breaking into a simper, “beautiful.” 

Arthur laughs, really laughs at that, reaching out to squeeze Merlin’s shin beneath the blanket, “goodnight, Merlin,” he says sincerely, getting up for the last time and heading to his own bed. 

“Arthur?”

Arthur counts to three, trying to keep his cool, “what?” 

“I’m sorry.” 

The apology sounds so fragile, different from how Merlin sounded only a second ago. He turns back round, seeing the little boy sitting upright in bed and looking at him with such seriousness for a child. For a moment, Arthur almost envisions Merlin as he knew him before all this. 

“It’s okay, Merlin,” Arthur tells him softly, offering a half smile, “you don’t... have to apologize.”

“I messed up.”

“Haven’t we all?” 

Merlin gives him a sad smile, looking down at his hands as he fumbles with the threading of the quilt covering him. Arthur walks back over, gently tapping the boy on the cheek before nudging his chin with his fingers, “goodnight,” Arthur says for what is hopefully the last time. 

Merlin seems tired all over again, and Arthur hopes it from sleep, as he says goodnight back and lays down. Arthur nods, heading back to his bed.

“Arthur?”

“Gahh!” Arthur finally explodes, turning to Merlin exasperated, “Merlin. Bed. Now.”

“Just one more question.”

“It’s always one more question!”

“I promise this time.”

“What?” 

“When I’m big can we still have sleepovers?” 

Arthur’s stuttering, unable to come back with a response. Partly because he’s tired and partly because it's such a ridiculous question, “if I say yes will you go to sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. Then yes.”

“Promise?”

“Yes. Yes, fine. Whatever. Just close your eyes.”

Merlin does, a smile on his face. Arthur watches for a few minutes, nervously waiting for Merlin to pop back up. When he doesn’t, the King lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Arthur hopes this is it as he backs away slowly, catching Guinevere’s eye when she quietly enters the room and places his finger to his lips. 

In his attempt to back away quietly, Arthur runs into his table, quickly darting a hand behind him to catch himself and effectively knocking over a cup of wine, the sound seeming so loud in the quietness of the room. 

Merlin’s eyes spring back open. 

“Oh for god’s sake!”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't focus for the life of me. I'm not proud of this chapter. It's more or less a bridge to the hunting trip. But I enjoyed the horse part though I realized in the stories I've written with horses in them I always choose black horses. I'm a bit biased, I can't help it. The best horses I've ever owned have been jet black. And it's funny cause growing up my father would always tell me the black ones were crazy (he loved his bays (brown horses)). And maybe they kinda were lol but I loved mine. Zetti is actually my real horse lol. Forever Mr. Grumpy pants. He's a good boy though. 
> 
> Also, horses are measured in hands. One hand= 4 inches. 15 hands (or 15h) is what I would consider a pretty average height for a horse. But average height depends on who you talk to in the horse world. My friend breeds and raises minis. I have another friend who's only ever owned draft horses. So their definition of average height is different from mine. 
> 
> Feathers on horses is just longer hair around their hooves. Not real feathers. 
> 
> I've had to explain that in person before. Someone actually thought my horse had feathers.

By the next day Arthur thinks he’s got it all figured out. 

Routine, that’s all he and Merlin needed. Children thrive under routine, they need it, want it, even crave it. A happy child is one whose life is mapped out not by orders, lectures and empty threats but a consistent schedule of what to do when and where and for how long. 

At least, that’s what Arthur reads the next morning in one of the parenting books he nabs from Geoffrey. The old man who seemingly never comes out from the library gave Arthur a suspicious look before the corners of his lips began to resemble the hint of a smile. Arthur hates to admit he had blushed a bit at the unsaid innuendo. He had half a mind to explain everything. Tell Geoffrey not to get too excited. That Guinevere and he had not fallen pregnant and that he was simply brushing up on some knowledge because his idiot manservant had gone and turned himself into a child, one Arthur was tasked with caring for while Gaius was away trying to undo the whole mess. 

But that would just leave more questions than answers, surely. So Arthur just gave him a tight smile and headed off, the book tucked protectively under his arm. He had read it all through the morning, having been the first to rise. He read it still even when Gwen had woken and taken it upon herself to wake Merlin and give the child a proper bath. Merlin, surprisingly for as modest as he had been didn’t seem too upset by it. But Gwen felt to protect his dignity she'd bathe him in his braies anyways. The little boy didn’t seem to mind either way, he was happy enough to be floundering around in the warm water, splashing a little and playing with an empty goblet Gwen had given to him. 

“Gwen, lookit!” Merlin chirps, pouring the whole cup over his head and spluttering as he does. Gwen smiles and makes a show, clapping her hands for really no other reason than to let Merlin know she approved. It seems enough to satisfy him as his grin only grows bigger, doing it all over again. 

This time, Merlin’s telling Gwen something in his squeaky voice as he pours and too much water gets into his mouth causing him to drop his arms and spit the water out quickly before coughing. 

“Oh, Merlin!” Gwen chides reaching over to pat his wet back, “okay, all done. No more. Oh god, breath darling,” she tells him nervously as his coughing slowly begins to die down. He gives her a thumbs up through watery eyes but it does little to calm Gwen’s racing heart.

“Is he alright?”

Gwen nearly jumps at the sound of her husband’s voice suddenly coming from behind her. She turns to see he’s looming over where she sits by the basin, worried eyes fixed on Merlin who’s quickly gone back to playing with his goblet once more, seemingly unphased by his mini choking ordeal unlike his makeshift guardians who are on edge as if he’ll keel over any second. 

“Yes, I think so,” Gwen tells him a bit breathlessly, one hand on her heart and the other still resting on Merlin’s back. The little warlock picks the goblet up again, full of water, and goes to dump it over his head. 

“How bout -no-” Arthur chimes in, intercepting the goblet from Merlin’s little fingers and dumping the water out before tossing the offensive object to the floor. Merlin gives him a pout in response, crossing his arms, “hey!” 

“Let’s keep you alive, shall we?” Arthur tells him with a small smile as he grabs a chair and sits down beside his wife, opening the book upon his lap that he kept tucked under his arm, pointing at one paragraph in particular, “see here, Guinevere. Routine. We should start one. And the sooner the better. It says here it’s a crucial part of a child’s development. Honestly, Merlin could use one no matter his age- that idiot- but it’s even more important now that he’s, you know, a child. It’ll help with moodiness-” Arthur pauses to snort out a laugh, “-seriously, remind me to tell Merlin once he’s grown- and it helps with sleep patterns. Which, in return, also helps with moodiness. This could all really come in handy.” 

Arthur doesn’t quite seem to notice both Gwen and Merlin have stopped to look at him with similar expressions. Gwen reaches over to lift the book up just enough to read the cover, “child rearing? Arthur when did you get this?” 

The King pulls the book back, a bit guarded, “this morning. Early this morning.” 

Gwen’s eyes are laughing, Arthur can tell, but his Queen does her best to hide whatever amusement tries to contort her face as she ducks her head and brings a cloth to Merlin’s back, “go on.” 

“That was it.” 

“Alright, so a routine. What do you think, Merlin?” When Guinevere talks to Merlin her voice has always been different, Arthur had noted. Lighter, softer, she even, as Queen, allowed whatever exhaustion she felt be heard in it, always letting her guard down at least a little when in the warlock’s presence. Years of friendship would do that. But now, Gwen uses a voice Arthur isn’t quite sure he’s heard before. It’s not quite baby talk, Arthur wouldn’t be able to stand that, but it’s definitely a tone fit for a child. 

Motherly would be the only way for Arthur to describe it. 

Merlin shrugs at Gwen’s question, flicking his eyes to Arthur before back down at his bath water where he’s waving his hands lazily through the soap and oils, “can I still see Lancelot?” 

Really he means the knights in general but Lancelot’s the one Merlin’s been missing and Arthur knows he shouldn’t be so annoyed at the mention of the knight’s name but he is. He gets it, he really does. Lancelot has been Merlin’s friend for almost as long as he has. And Merlin confided in Lancelot a secret that would have cost him his life (Arthur’s still a bit bitter that Lancelot knew long before him but he doesn’t bring it up) but Arthur’s been the one taking care of Merlin here, must he remind the little boy? He’s been the one to feed him, put him to bed, stay with him in the night, help him dress, bathe him- okay, so really that one’s Gwen but Arthur IS here, he saved Merlin from a goblet ready to drown him.

And the boy’s still thinking about Lancelot. 

Arthur scoffs. 

“What?” Gwen asks, turning to him with a raised brow. 

“Nothing. Yes, you can still Lancelot. We’ll need a break in the day from you anyways.” 

Merlin makes a face at that but says nothing. It’s his wife who shoots him a glare and Arthur has to try really hard not to roll his eyes, “so I’m thinking bath before bed from now on but after supper, and only ONE story before bed, you hear that Merlin?”

Merlin’s little eyebrows come together at that, “five!”

“No!”

“Three!” 

“One.”

“Two?” 

Arthur stares him down, “fine. Two. But then you have to sleep. No more talking after that, understood?”

Merlin nods even if he’s distracted by Gwen telling him to put his arms up. She finishes with the cloth before lifting him out of the basin and wrapping him up in a towel far too big for him. Merlin’s got it wrapped over his head and under his chin so just his little face can be seen as he snuggles in it’s warmth. He waddles over to Arthur, leaning over the King’s arm rest and into his face so they’re inches apart. Arthur raises a brow but holds firm even when Merlin squints at him, as if waiting for him to break. 

Finally Arthur does, “what do you want?” he asks teasingly, squinting his eyes back. Merlin’s lips betray him and wobble into a smirk. 

“Three.” 

Arthur doesn’t hold back this time, allowing his eyes to practically roll into the back of his head with a groan.

“Insufferable.” 

After breakfast, Arthur’s pretty proud of himself. He thinks he’s got it all mapped out. He even scribbles it down on some spare parchment from his desk. Gwen gives her approval, telling him the schedule is very nice and easy to follow. Merlin just glares at it, already bored with it and he hasn’t even begun. 

“Why so many chores?”

“They’re good for you. And they’re not that bad, a smidge of what you usually do.”

“But… they’re boring.” 

“Merlin, not everything is about fun. Even when you’re a kid.”

Merlin just pouts over his porridge. That sounded like a bunch of bull but he knew better to fight it. At least for now. 

Suddenly there’s knocking at the door and Merlin springs from his seat, “I’ll get it!” 

Arthur jumps a bit, turning every which way as Merlin darts around his chair and hurries to the door. Gwen’s there already however, pulling the door open and snaking an arm over Merlin’s chest so he didn’t run out into the hallway. 

“Lancelot,” She greets politely and Merlin’s face lights up, breaking away from Gwen and rushing the knight with such speed Lancelot has to quickly bend to catch him, tossing the boy up in his arms and chuckling when Merlin is all giggles, throwing his arms around Lancelot’s neck and hugging him like he hasn’t seen him in years. 

Arthur comes up behind Gwen, watching with a bit of a scowl, “morning, Lancelot. What brings you here?” 

Lancelot juggles the boy in his arms, shifting so he’s got a better hold on Merlin as he looks at Arthur, his face far from a scowl, “we were all wondering what the plans were. Is the hunting overnighter a no go?” 

“The hunting trip...” Arthur sighs, cursing and rubbing at his chin. He had lost a bet with his knights a week ago and had promised them a real stag hunt, mostly for Elyan and Gwaine’s sake who hadn’t gone hunting in years and had been eager to go back out. Chasing small game birds wasn't the same.

“I had forgotten… the one to remind me, of course, didn’t,” Arthur says lightly, nodding towards Merlin still clinging to Lancelot. The knight nods, grinning, “we figured that much. Shall we put the horses away then?”

Arthur’s about to agree, tell Lancelot to forget the whole thing and spread the word before Merlin pops up, eyes darting to both of them, affronted, “nooo. Don’t not go. I wanna go.” 

“Merlin, you can’t. Look at you.” Arthur tells him as gently as he can but he can’t help a bit of a snippiness to his tone, not when Merlin’s still being so overly attached to Lancelot. 

“Yes I can! I’ll be quiet and good and helpful. Please can we go?”

“Merlin it’s not safe for-” Arthur’s cut off when his wife grabs his arm, gently tugging him back a bit, she smiles warmly at both Lancelot and Merlin, apologizing to the knight as she starts to shut the door, “just give us a moment.” 

Lancelot doesn’t have much time to respond before Gwen closes the door completely, turning to her husband with pleading eyes, “you should go. All of you.”

Arthur blinks, “with a toddler?”

“With a child,” Gwen corrects, grabbing her husband’s hand, “a rambunctious, full of energy, always looking for something to do child. This could be good for Merlin.” 

“Good for him? Are you missing the fact he’s about knee high and practically drowns himself with a cup? Adult Merlin is a safety hazard on an overnight hunting trip let alone child Merlin. It’s far too dangerous.”

Gwen just cocks her head, her lips a thin line. Arthur shakes his, crossing his arms, “no. Guinevere, no. I can’t look after him on my own-”

“You have your five best men with you.”

“Who have no experience with children.”

“Elyan is my brother, I can vouch for him and tell you he is very good with children. And you know Lancelot is. Percival and Gwaine have already spent the afternoon with Merlin. And didn’t Leon help raise you?” 

Arthur clamps his mouth shut. Maybe. Leon was always like an older brother to Arthur, he’ll admit. He used to look up to the older knight almost as much as he had looked up to his father. Leon was always there for him, never yelling or scolding him but teaching him with small praises and a firm pat on the back. It was really the only affection Arthur got as a child. 

“Okay fine, but it’s still dangerous. Plus, Merlin had a hard time not crying when I’d kill an animal under normal circumstances who’s to say he won’t start bawling now as a child?” 

“It’s not about the hunting, Arthur,” Gwen tells him softly, squeezing his hand and for some reason he suddenly feels like the child, “it’s just the time spent together Merlin will enjoy. He’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. And most importantly, it gets him out of the castle for a little while.” 

“But… but what about the routine? I wrote it down.” It’s a rather sorry excuse, Arthur knows, but it’s his last ditch effort not to have to go. He’s not totally comfortable taking a little Merlin into the woods. The thought of caring for any child without his wife is a bit daunting, Leon or no Leon. 

“We will pick it up as soon as you guys return, tomorrow,” she emphasizes, as if to remind Arthur he won’t be away that long and he’s silly for worrying so. 

After a moment of an intense stare down Arthur relents, throwing his hands up and letting out a breath, “fine, fine.” 

Gwen stands on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, one Arthur grumbles away, and twirls to pull the door back open. Lancelot is still standing there but Merlin has maneuvered his way so he’s sitting on the knight’s shoulders, Lancelot holding onto his legs while Merlin has his arms crossed over his head and his chin resting upon them. They’re both looking pleased at the King and Queen and Arthur scoffs when he realizes they no doubt heard everything. 

Merlin perks up, “can I take Zetti?!”

Zetti is one of the horses Merlin has in the Camelot stables and is, without a doubt, the warlock’s all time favorite. Arthur never could understand why. Zetti, though not a small horse by any means, was shorter than the rest. He was a gelding who was gelded late so even though he had the thick neck and crumpled mane of a stallion he was much more laid back than one. While Arthur’s stallion struggled with the simple task of standing still when asked and often found great joy in nipping at the other horse’s rumps, Zetti would just stand there, ears pinned when someone got too close and ignored all the other horse’s attempts to muck around. 

He was beautiful, Arthur will give him that. An inky black without a single speck of white on him. His hooves were partially feathered around his pasterns and his neck stayed coiled even in rest. He was a nasty bugger though, often threatening people and horses alike with a simple flick of his ears and twitch of his lip. Arthur called him miserable. Merlin called him his. 

And for whatever reason, Zetti never quite pinned his ears as far back with Merlin as he did others. He never stomped his foot at the warlock or swished his tail. It was like the two of them had an unspoken agreement. A ‘you treat me fair and I’ll treat you fair’ sort of thing. 

And Zetti proved to be quite the loyal creature after that. 

But as Merlin, much smaller than before, walked up to his horse he realized maybe Zetti wouldn’t recognize him like this. And even though the horse stood at an average 15 hands at the withers Merlin thought he was ten times his normal height from all the way down here. 

But Merlin walked up to him anyways, having let go of Lancelot’s hand once they had ventured to the courtyard where their steeds were waiting for them. The horse’s perpetually laid back ears snapped forward at a small human coming towards him and when Merlin was within arm’s reach he stood on his tiptoes to touch Zetti’s nose. He wasn’t quite tall enough and Zetti noticed, stretching his neck out in the stable boy’s hold as he met Merlin halfway, locking eyes and his nose blowing hot air on the little warlock’s palm. 

Merlin broke out in a grin when he realized his horse in fact did recognize him. Overcome with childlike giddiness Merlin rushed forward, hugging the horse around his leg and pressing his cheek up against the soft black hair. The gelding snorted, curling his neck to get a better look before relaxing back into his neutral stance once more. It wasn’t until Arthur reached forward and plucked Merlin out from under the horse’s neck did Zetti toss his head and lay his ears back. 

“Nu uh!” Arthur practically growls at Zetti, used to the horse’s nonverbal threats as he pulls Merlin away, “mind yourself, colt.” 

The King turns to Merlin with stern eyes, “don’t stand so close to their feet like that. What if he stomps at a fly? He’ll break your toes.” 

“Zetti wouldn’t do that.” 

“Maybe when you’re bigger. But he can’t see you when you’re so little, you’re gonna have to be more mindful, Merlin.” 

Merlin wants to defend Zetti but he’s not in the mood for an argument and just nods instead, letting Arthur ruffle his hair as the King continues to pack their things onto his horse and then Zetti. Once all the knights gather with their horses (Gwaine and Merlin greeting each other in the same fashion Merlin had with Lancelot) it’s time to head out. Everyone mounts up with ease. Except Merlin, of course, who eyes his saddle thoughtfully. There’s no way he’ll be able to get his legs up there on his own and the stable boy holding Zetti’s head watches with big eyes, feeling unsure of how to help him.

Merlin knows though, walking up to the stable boy and reaching his arms out in the universal child signal for up. The stable boy is instantly taken back. Technically, he’s younger than Merlin on a normal day and the warlock is usually kind and helpful in the ways an older brother would be, teaching the stable boy how to be more skillful with tacking up and with horses in general. To say picking up little Merlin is odd is an understatement. But he does it, though be it a little quickly, placing Merlin rather roughly in his saddle and causing the little boy to glare at him as he sits side-saddle. 

“Sorry,” the stable boy nervously says as he flips the reins over Zetti’s head and gives them to Merlin’s little hands. 

Once everyone is seated and ready to go Arthur nods in approval, ready to head out before Percvial speaks up, “that can’t be safe.” 

He points his chin towards Merlin who’s sitting with both his legs on one side of his saddle, giggling and smiling as he taunts the stable boy who’s trying to put his foot in the stirrup.

“Merlin!” Arthur scolds, reining his horse back who’s chomping at the bit, ready to go. 

Merlin looks up, his smile growing bigger as he flips his leg over Zetti’s rump so he’s sitting backwards, “look at how much room I’ve gots!” and to emphasize his point he puts both his legs over the cantle of his saddle, leaning back into the pommel. His little body fits perfectly in his saddle, cradled in it like a baby would be in a bassinet and the stable boy gasps as he reaches up to steady Merlin by pressing a hand to his chest. Merlin cocks an eyebrow at him. 

While some of the knights share a chuckle Arthur’s not laughing and he’s ready to reprimand his boyservant and have him sit right before Lancelot has his mare walk up beside Zetti, tapping Merlin’s shoulder to gain the warlock’s attention. 

“Ride with me, it’ll be safer.” 

Merlin doesn’t protest, just sits up and reaches out for Lancelot who hauls him into his saddle with one arm, settling the little boy in front of him as he shifts to make more room. “What about Zetti?” Merlin asks sadly, leaning forward on Lancelot’s mare’s white mane to try and touch Zetti who lifts his head at his name. 

Lancelot wraps an arm around Merlin’s middle, keeping him still as he says, “he’ll be our pack horse. Lucky guy, he gets less weight.” 

Zetti gets tied to Elyan's horse who the gelding can tolerate the most. Elyan’s stallion welcomes Zetti with a soft nicker, almost as if he’s thrilled to have a tag along. Zetti never even lifts his ears a little. 

Elyan chuckles, “your horse is such a grouch, Merlin. He better not bite me while I’m not looking.” 

“He won’t,” Merlin tells him as Lancelot’s horse rides past them, “he’s not that bad.” 

“Mmm. I don’t know why you’re so fond of this creature, he seems that bad.” 

Merlin shrugs, “he’s like Arthur. He just looks mean. But he’s not.” 

It’s a simple, innocent statement. Merlin’s really not trying to tease the King. But the knights chuckle anyways as Arthur ignores them, spurring his horse to the front and leading the way out towards the trails in the forest. 

He just wanted to get this over with.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I re-read this I realized I said "do you how do" instead of "how do you do"
> 
> I have some riding clients with autism who love Spongebob and it's kinda our thing to greet each other with "do you how do" and I guess I say it so much with them that I didn't even realize I said it in this chapter until I looked it over lol. I kept it anyways. 
> 
> ALSO WARNING: I feel like I should give one cause this chapter briefly talks about harming an animal. I know some people aren't comfortable with hunting. So... yeah, warning.

“You gotta be careful now, you don’t want to squish her.”

“Her?” Merlin asks in a hushed tone. He and Leon were lying on their bellies before a rock that had a pretty bright green praying mantis perched upon it, it’s beady little eyes watching closely as Merlin’s gigantic fingertip approached it’s head slowly. 

“Yes,” Leon tells him just as quietly as to not disturb the little bug, “you can tell because of how brightly colored she is. Males are a bit more dull. And smaller. This little lady is a pretty good size.”

That was true. Her size is why perhaps Merlin even noticed her in the first place. After a couple hours of trekking through the forest not far from Camelot, Arthur had come to a clearing where he claimed he last saw this ‘monster’ stag they were supposedly after. The moment Lancelot had reached up to take Merlin off his horse and set him on the ground the little warlock caught sight of the large, brightly colored bug sitting perfectly still on the rock across the clearing. He gasped, enthralled by the little creature’s green coloring and started stumbling towards it, away from the knights who were busy untacking their mounts. 

It was Arthur who spotted him first, “Merlin, stay close. We don’t need you getting lost or hurt.” 

The little boy stopped and turned to give the King a pout, one he was perfecting with each use, but Arthur remained firm, “oh no, this isn’t a frolic through the forest like yesterday. We’re here to hunt.” 

“But I don’t wanna go through the woods. Just to that rock,” Merlin points to where the bug is and that’s when Leon, of all people, speaks up, placing a hand on Merlin’s little shoulder and giving him a smile, “let’s go then.” 

Arthur pointedly looks at Leon, gesturing to all the stuff still packed on his horse but the older knight’s already following Merlin to the rock, ignoring his King, seemingly, for the first time. Arthur’s just a bit miffed by it. 

And that’s how Merlin and the senior knight end up lying on their stomachs, Merlin completely intrigued by how the praying mantis seemed totally at ease with two giant creatures ready to pet her. 

“Little lady,” Merlin mumbles to himself, his fingertip just barely touching the top of the bug’s head, her eyes zeroing in on it, “is she a Lady like Gwen?”

“Maybe,” Leon hums.

“Queen of her own bug kingdom,” Merlin says, looking at Leon with such giddiness the knight can’t steer him astray from such an idea.

“Perhaps.” 

Merlin looks back at the praying mantis and she’s staring back at him. Her triangular head gives way for her bulging eyes to appear almost quizzical, watching Merlin with just as much interest as he’s watching her. He smiles at her, offering a “do you how do, My Lady?” 

She doesn’t respond well. 

Maybe she’s not a queen. 

For the praying mantis quickly uses one, long front leg to stab at Merlin’s finger, pricking him just enough for the little boy to gasp and reel back, sitting up on his knees along with Leon and holding his finger protectively to his chest.

“She bit me!” 

Leon chuckles, “she didn’t bite you, Merlin. Here let me see.” The knight reaches out to take Merlin’s hand in his, examining it quickly with an amused grin, “see? Nothing. Just poked you. Gave you a warning.” 

“Poked me?” Merlin repeats, obviously confused as he shoots a guarded look at the praying mantis who’s still holding her ground, looking mighty pleased with her attack if Merlin thought so himself. 

“Yeah, like this,” and to demonstrate Leon pokes Merlin on the nose with his own finger, causing the little warlock to giggle and cover it quickly. 

“Why would she poke me?” 

“To warn you,” Leon says again, “she was telling you, you were too close.”

Merlin tilts his head at the praying mantis who’s raised her leg and is pawing at the air, as if to emphasize Leon’s point, telling Merlin to keep his distance. Merlin waves at her instead, a little sad he can’t pet her but understanding why. 

“Come on, let’s go help the others set up camp,” Leon says gently, standing to his feet followed by Merlin who reaches up to grab his hand, neverminding Leon raising a brow at the action as they walk back. 

“Where’s her husband?” 

“Pardon?” 

“The lady mantis. Where’s her husband?” 

Leon thinks about the gruesome, cruel fate the ‘lady’s mantis’s’ husband might have been dealt and cringes a bit, figuring Merlin was now too little to hear such details. He settles on a more child-friendly sort of explanation instead. 

“He’s…. Working, probably.”

Merlin ponders this briefly, thinking what type of jobs might be fit for a praying mantis before shrugging and going with it, swinging Leon’s hand in between them as they regroup with the others who have all taken to tend to various tasks in setting up camp. Usually, Merlin took care of most of it while the knights settled in though they’d give him a hand when fit. But since Merlin was no longer able to attend to such things, everyone had fanned out, gathering wood for a fire and setting up bedrolls. The horses were tied and unsaddled, munching happily on whatever grass sprouted from the forest floor. Arthur was sitting on a nearby log with Gwaine, arguing over a map. 

“You’re ridiculous, your highness,” Gwaine says, sarcastically using the formality as he gestures towards the trees, “it’s spring. Does are dropping their fawns. Your stag isn’t going to be seeking them out, not when the ladies are so protective over their young. Right now they’re shedding the last of their winter coat and headed for the meadows to pick off whatever clovers might be left. Our best bet is to head down to the gorge. We might find a stag among a herd.”

Arthur shakes his head, pointing at his map, “this stag is a loner. I know it. You didn’t see him like I did. He must've been half my age with a coat as unmarked as a newborn’s. This beast had antlers the span of my arm length. And not a single one scratched. He keeps to himself. We should avoid the gorge and track him through the woods. Perhaps down to the riverbed where the grasses are sweeter and less inhabited. He’s not looking for a duel.”

Gwaine scoffs, “if he’s as old as you say why do you want him so bad anyways? His meat will be tough. Might break a tooth.” 

“He’s a long time resident in these woods. We’ve had a few encounters and he’s always been able to evade me. This time, we win.” 

“If he’s lived here for so long why not leave him alone?” Merlin speaks up, voice small among the men’s and filled with unbridled honesty and curiosity. Arthur wishes he could blame such an idea on Merlin's newly appointed childlike persona but he knows that’s foolish. His manservant has always been too soft when it came to hunting. 

“Because, Merlin,” Arthur says, never looking up from the map, “that’s not how it works. He’s a stag and we’re the hunters.” Arthur stops to fold his map in and turn to where the little boy is standing before him, having left Leon’s side to peek at the map himself, “and hunters hunt stags. It’s the way it’s always been. How many times must we go over this?”

Merlin shrugs, hands behind his back as he rocks on his heels, “until you get it?”

“No,” Arthur asserts, rolling his map up before lightly tapping Merlin on the top of the head with it, “until you get it. Everything has a place in this world, Merlin. The quicker you learn that the better.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, having heard that same thing a thousand times before. And sure, Arthur’s used to Merlin rolling his eyes at him. In fact, the warlock probably couldn’t go five minutes without doing so. But something about a child rolling their eyes at Arthur just felt so wrong. How dare little Merlin be so sassy. 

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” Arthur questions, leaning forward on the log, causing Merlin to tuck his chin to his chest as he locks eyes with him, wondering if he's really in trouble or not. 

Merlin shakes his head no quietly, waiting for Arthur’s next move. 

“And now you lie to me?” 

A beat of silence passes before Merlin opens his mouth to finally respond. But he’s cut short when Arthur grabs his arm, hauling him in and pinning it before assaulting Merlin’s tummy and side in tickles. 

And it’s just as bad as when Lancelot did it. 

Merlin squirms, fighting back the urge to laugh as he tries to huddle in on himself and escape. But it’s just too much. It seems tickling always is. And Merlin can’t help but fall into a fit of giggles. He’s powerless to stop it, Arthur is much stronger than he is any other time, but he finally manages to break free, falling into Gwaine’s knees before pushing off them and darting away, stopping when he feels he’s safe enough to turn back to Arthur, breathless. 

“Now you gotta get me!” 

Arthur makes a face at that, losing his smile in the confusion, “what?”

Gwaine hits his shoulder, motioning to Merlin as if it’s obvious, “you have to chase him.” 

“I will not.” 

“You started this game. You have to.”

“What game? All I did was tickle him. To cheer him up.” 

“Kids love being chased, look at him. You have to.” 

Merlin’s smirking at Arthur, looking way too thrilled at the prospect of a game and the King sighs, standing up but before he can take even one step Merlin’s waving his hands excitedly, beaming up at him as he bounces back over. 

“Wait, wait! Cover your eyes!”

“Excuse me?”

“I wanna hide!” 

“Merlin, this is ridiculous-”

“Just do it!”  
Gwaine pipes up, “you gotta do it.” 

Arthur shoots him a glare, clearly unimpressed with the knight not helping but Gwaine just grins, seeming way too assumed with the whole thing. 

“Fine,” Arthur gives in, placing his hands over his eyes, tapping his foot in a show of impatience, “you better hurry Merlin I’m not staying like this for long.”

Merlin runs forward, grabbing Gwaine’s hand as he says, “you hide too!” 

“Ha!” Arthur chimes, watching through his fingers as Gwaine’s dragged from the log and to the trees. Merlin tucks him behind one, smiling up at him and whispering, “be really quiet.” 

Gwaine nods, giving a thumbs up before the little warlock scurries away, quickly scanning for a proper place to hide himself. Leon and Elyan are watching the whole thing where they sit side by side, clearly entertained at the sight of a fellow knight attempting to hide behind a tree and their King standing off to the side with his hands over his eyes. 

Percival’s sitting a little ways away from them, not paying attention as he’s engulfed with sorting his arrows of different sizes, trying to decipher the best one for penetrating a stag for the most clean and effective kill. His biggest fear is for the poor beast to suffer when it doesn’t have to. 

So he’s a little startled when suddenly a small body is huddled up behind him, back to and snickering quietly. Percival looks over his shoulder to see Merlin peering around his much larger frame in the direction of Arthur. That’s when he notices the King playing along to an obvious game of hide and seek. 

“Was I really the best you could come up with?” Percival whispers to Merlin teasingly and the little boy shushes him quickly. 

“You’ll give me away!”

Percival doesn’t have the heart to tell him he’s already been given away due to the fact it was a silly hiding spot to begin with. Arthur’s looking at him with his hands on his hips, his eyes half mast and his lips in a thin line. 

Elyan shoots him a glare and whispers, “he’s trying! Give him credit.”

Percival just nods, broadening his shoulders in an attempt to hide Merlin further. Arthur just scoffs, walking around the large knight and tipping an unsuspecting Merlin over with his foot, “found you. Try a little harder next time.” 

Merlin’s completely unphased by Arthur’s dull reaction to finding him, throwing his arms up with a big smile and congratulating him, “you’re good at this!” 

“Yes, well, you not so much-”

“Now you hafta find Gwaine!” Merlin tells him, getting to his feet and squeezing himself in between Elyan and Leon as he watches Arthur as if the King is going to put on some grand show. 

“What do- Where is Gwaine?” Arthur asks, looking around. He was expecting him to just sort of be there, not actually partake in the hiding aspect. 

“Hiding?” Merlin tells him, as if it’s clear as day and Arthur frowns, “where?”

Merlin blinks, “that’s...the point,” he says in a little voice. 

It’s one thing for Arthur to pretend to look for a little Merlin who embodied nearly every aspect of a child but looking for Gwaine who was still very much an adult in every way was another. Arthur would be lying if he said he didn’t feel completely foolish just thinking about it. 

But Merlin’s looking at him so expectantly, excited at the idea of him finding the other man and Arthur can’t remember a time Merlin looked this happy and carefree. Child or not. 

He hated that he could feel his ability to say no slipping away.

And felt utterly ridiculous as he faked searched the clearing, his three other knights watching him as they failed to hide their laughter. 

He feels even MORE ridiculous that he actually can’t find Gwaine. 

Gwaine was still hidden behind a tree but had since darted from one to the other when Arthur conveniently had his back turned, catching Merlin’s attention and only feeding the little boy’s enjoyment by making it harder on the King. He’s peeking around the rotund trunk of an oak tree when he hears a twig snap in front of him. 

“What are you doing?” 

Gwaine nearly jumps out of his skin. 

It’s Lancelot. Standing in front of him with an arm load of kindling as he looks at Gwaine with raised brows, lips sucked in as if he’s biting back a grin. Gwaine simply jabs a thumb in Arthur’s general direction. 

“Merlin wanted to play a game.” 

Lancelot follows the thumb, watching as Arthur scans the treeline before looking back at Gwaine, a little unbelieving, “I see.” 

Their conversation is enough commotion to alert the King who sees Lancelot and Gwaine’s shadow and quickly points it out, “you’ve been found Gwaine, come on out!”

Gwaine steps out from behind the tree, sour at his exposure and pushing Lancelot’s shoulder enough to knock some kindling from his arms, muttering a ‘traitor’ as he goes. Lancelot scoffs, picking what had fallen back up and following Gwaine into the clearing. 

Merlin requests another round of hide and seek, attempting to drag all the knights into it. He wins a single round but they have to stop after that since Gwaine began to take it a little too seriously and got huffy at Percival when the larger knight tries to hide with him. 

“This tree barely hides just me, Perc, find some place else.”

“It’s just a game, Gwaine, calm down.” 

“Is it?! These are real skills to have.” 

Of course the arguing gives them away and Lancelot finds them first which just adds more irritation to the whole thing and Merlin loses interest among the brotherly bickering. 

Instead, he decides to be useful and help Elyan set up a fire so the salted meat can be cooked for supper while Leon and Arthur work out a plan on tracking the stag first thing in the morning.

Once the sun has set far behind the mountains, the forest is blanketed in darkness and everyone has had their fill of overcooked pork do the voices of the woods come alive. The logs had been dragged around the fire, close enough for everyone to catch the heat amongst the chilly night air of a still young spring as they sat upon them. Merlin is tucked between Gwaine and Lancelot, absentmindedly squeezing the bottom threads of the latter knight’s tunic as he looks over his shoulder at the rustling of the bushes. For whatever reason, the creatures of the forest are much more awake when the sun goes down and Merlin would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little unnerved by that. 

The knights and Arthur are engaged in mindless chatter, Merlin’s not paying attention. He can’t when he feels like something will come charging at him when his back is turned. He feels uneasy, like a sitting duck, and nearly jumps up when he hears a lone, distant howl of a wolf emit through the night air. 

The call of the wolf cuts through the conversation, everyone pausing as they wait for it to die down. It’s such a pained and mournful sound, making it that much more concerning to Merlin as he huddles into Lancelot’s side, glancing over his shoulder as if the wolf would jump out. 

“Don’t worry, Merlin,” Leon says from across the fire, noticing the little boy’s fear even from where he sat, “she’s nowhere near here. Their voices can carry quite a way.”

No sooner does Leon say that does another howl follow. But this one isn’t so far away. In fact, it sounds like it’s just beyond the darkened tree line. It’s so much more loud and clear and Merlin swears he can feel the call of the replying wolf rattle in his bones. It sends a chill up his spine and he buries his face in his hands, hoping if he can’t see the darkness that whatever’s out there can’t see him either. Even in his young mind, he knows it’s silly. But it’s not even the fact that there’s a wolf out there that terrifies him, it’s the sound of their lonesome cry that has him feeling so unsettled. He can’t fathom why they’re so sad sounding and for some reason the thought of it is enough to make him shiver. 

Gwaine mutters a “to hell with it” and reaches over, grabbing Merlin under the arms and taking him from Lancelot’s side when the said knight lifts his arm for him. Gwaine may not have the most experience with children but he’s no idiot and he can see the anguish clear on little Merlin’s face. He places the boy on his lap and tucks him into his chest. Merlin barely uncovers his eyes, cuddling into Gwaine and hiding his face in the man’s vest as another wolf calls out, responding to whatever sorrowful conversation they may be having. Merlin hopes they find each other, if that’s what they’re doing. Anything to make them sound not so pitiful. 

“Nowhere near here, huh?” Elyan taunts quietly as he glances at Leon from his peripheral vision, poking at the fire with a stick. Leon shrugs, a little embarrassed for being wrong. 

“Be alert,” Arthur tells them, his voice low and eyes following the trees, “they won’t attack. They’re not that stupid. But they’re no doubt sizing us up. A young one may be brave.” 

That doesn’t help Merlin feel any better as he rests his head on Gwaine’s chest and listens for more rustling. They seldom run into wolves on their hunts but that doesn’t mean they never do. Wolves are hunters too, of course. Oftentimes they have the same agenda as their human counterparts do. But they’re more stealthy, able to keep their presence hidden among the thick brush. Merlin figures they’re around a lot more than they’re made aware. 

He can’t deny, however, that being in Gwaine’s arms offers a bit of comfort. He feels safer knowing his back isn’t exposed to the unknown of the woods. 

“Maybe they’ll slay your stag before you do,” Gwaine says to Arthur, the rumbling of his voice vibrating in Merlin’s ear. Arthur shoots him a pinched look as he shakes his head. 

“The stag is too big for them. They’d need their whole pack. Why waste so much time and energy on such a big creature when they can pick off the young and sick with ease.” 

“Lazy.”

“Smart.”

Merlin can’t see his face but he knows Gwaine rolled his eyes and he smiles despite his fears. It doesn’t take long for the howling to eventually stop. For whatever reason, Merlin’s not sure. Lancelot tells him they’ve probably ventured too far away but Merlin has a sneaking suspicion he’s wrong. He doesn’t say so though, not wanting to be a bother with his childish fears.

“We should get some rest,” Arthur tells them before turning to Elyan, “are you still up to take the first watch?” 

Elyan nods, muttering a “yes, Sire” before standing as he hands the poking stick to Percival and grabs his sword that lays close by, sheathing it and walking just beyond their campsite, taking post against a tree. 

The rest begin the process of moving the logs away from the fire, giving their bedrolls the chance for optimal amounts of warmth. Gwaine goes to put Merlin down but the little boy is feeling clingy, whining as he refuses and clings to Gwaine’s neck like a monkey. 

“Merlin, just for a second.” 

“Noooo.” He sounds sleepy, a bit cranky, and Gwaine sends Lancelot a look for help. The other knight just chuckles at his predicament but unrolls Gwaine’s bedroll for him anyways. It’s a nice gesture, sure, but it’s not what Gwaine was looking for. 

“Merlin,” he tries again, softer as he reaches up to unhook the boy’s arms from around his neck, “I gotta piss, you’ll be fine.” 

Merlin makes a face at, immediately letting go and scowling when Gwaine laughs and ruffles his hair, heading off to the trees to relieve himself. Merlin will give him credit, he’s brave for heading out there alone.

The little warlock grabs his bedroll nearby and quickly lays it out beside Lancelot who’s already laid down in his, cocking an eyebrow as he watches Merlin place it practically on top of his and hurries to get under the blanket, snuggling into Lancelot’s side and giving the knight no room to protest.

“You’re not going to kick me in your sleep again are you?” he teases the boy. Adult Merlin had this impressive ability to fall asleep almost anywhere in any position. He’s nodded off on his horse, kicked back in a chair, against a wall. He’s even seemingly fallen asleep while standing up (until Gwaine poked him in the forehead and he nearly fell over). But the catch is he never stays asleep like that for long given he’s such a restless sleeper, usually jolting or bolting awake as if someone had jumped him. Merlin had confided in Lancelot it was because of nightmares but he refused to tell the knight what they were about, no matter how much Lancelot prodded. 

Merlin huffs, obviously not up for some teasing. He just wants to close his eyes so morning will come quicker and grace them all by chasing away the darkness. 

Arthur watches from his spot on the other side of Lancelot, feeling ridiculous for even being just a tiny bit jealous. He knows it’s stupid but he was the one that had been there for Merlin at bedtime since he’s turned into a child. Well, except for the first night but had he known Merlin was going to be a handful for Gaius he would’ve stepped in (at least he knows he would’ve now) and he feels a bit irritated towards his most noble knight. He can’t help but feel he’s just stepping in when Arthur hasn’t asked him to.

But Arthur doesn’t say anything, it was Merlin after all who chose to sleep so close to Lancelot, he supposes he can’t really blame the knight for something Merlin decided to do. 

Arthur turns on his side, away from Lancelot when he covers little Merlin with his arm, holding the boy close when more rustling from the brush startles not only Merlin but even Arthur himself. It’s just Gwaine, reemerging from the trees as he stumbles into the clearing and snorts out a chortle at his own clumsy feet. Lancelot curses at him, “say something next time would ya?”

Gwaine brushes it off, settling into his own bedroll when Merlin reaches over in Lancelot’s grasp to pull it closer. Gwaine snorts, batting his hands away gently, “I’m close enough. Wouldn’t want Sir Frowns-a-lot to get the wrong idea.”

Lancelot doesn’t mean to live up to the nickname when he frowns at Gwaine but he does and Gwaine finds it comical, lying on his back and staring up at the stars through what little branches hung overhead. 

“But I’m scared,” Merlin says in a little voice, tugging at Gwaine’s blanket and the knight turns to him, catching Merlin’s big eyes and forlorn expression before sighing and scooting over just enough to satisfy the little boy, glaring at Lancelot when the other man gives him an amused grin. 

“Don’t get cocky, this is for Merlin.” 

“Right.” 

Merlin snuggles back in, feeling far more at ease knowing he’s protected on both sides. He falls asleep quickly after that, the sound of an owl hooting from above and Gwaine’s snores following shortly after. 

“What were you thinking, taking a shot like that?!” 

Arthur was fuming, throwing his arms up at Percival as the big knight flinched before glaring back, his crossbow at his side, “no one else was taking the shot, Sire. Were we to wait for the stag to flee?”

“I had him broadside, Percival. A good, clean shot takes patience. I was ready to shoot and I would’ve dropped him had you not stuck an arrow in his chest.” 

Percival sags, feeling worse for his terrible shot. They had all woken up that morning before the sun even had the chance to peek over the trees, gathering their bows and supplies as they planned to track the stag on foot. Lancelot had volunteered to stay behind at camp with the horses and Merlin who was grumpy at being woken up, surprisingly not being one of the first to rise, and wanted more sleep now that he had a ton of room to spread out. 

It was for the best. Stealth wasn’t Merlin’s best skill as an adult and Arthur only assumed it was worse as a child. Not to mention Merlin never cared for the killing of animals anyways. They had only been on the stag’s trail for half the morning before the beast had been spotted where, Arthur took note of this, the King had said he should be. The mighty stag was grazing along the riverbed, ankle deep in the water as he picked at the tall grass growing along the side. 

Arthur gave cue to fan out, all of them quietly surrounding the stag at four points, arrows aimed and ready as they stayed ducked behind boulders and trees. The stag lifted his head multiple times, ears twitching at even the slightest sound. His eyes were large, darting from one side of the forest to the other, looking ready to run at the sound of a snapping twig. 

Perhaps that’s why Percival took such a poor shot, the stag kept giving the impression he was ready to bolt. Percival had been adjacent to the stag and released his arrow when the beast turned, quartering toward him and locking eyes with the large knight through the brush. 

But the dense shoulder bones stopped the arrow from a full penetration and the stag bellowed in agony before taking off, narrowly missing the assault of arrows that flew from the others as they attempted to drop him amidst his escape. And even though the stag was wounded he was still very much able, darting from their view and over the embankment before disappearing completely. 

“We’ll need the horses,” Arthur sighs, still looking where the stag had disappeared to, “mark the path back to camp. We’ll… pack up and track his blood trail and then head home, with or without him.”

The disappointment was clear in the King’s voice as he ran distraught fingers through his hair and muttered “shit” as he disarmed his crossbow, ignoring Percival when he turned and began trudging back to camp, the bigger knight looking downtrodden at his mistake. Gwaine patted him on the back, shrugging. “We all take bad shots, Perc. We’ll find the stag and put him out of his misery.”

That’s exactly what Percival had prayed he wouldn’t do; cause the stag any needless pain. He could kick himself for taking such a stupid shot. Now his King was pissed and the poor stag could go to waste. 

Once they get back to camp and explain everything to Lancelot they begin to pack up, kicking dirt over the fire’s charcoals and tacking up their horses before mounting up and going after the stag. Arthur didn’t say word, quietly fuming as he took the lead, riding back to where they had first wounded the stag and inspecting for blood spots. Elyan finds the trail and they follow it for aways before the blood seems to just stop, as if the wound had closed up or the stag had just disappeared. 

“Great,” Arthur grumbles, jumping from his horse and scanning the trees. The knights follow, Lancelot picking Merlin off his horse and setting him down beside him. 

“Stay right here Merlin, I need to talk to Arthur.” 

Merlin nods, taking a seat on a nearby rock as he watches the knights explore the area, muttering to themselves and clearly frustrated with the situation. Lancelot approaches Arthur with his horse behind him, “what if he didn’t go this far? Maybe he hunkered down back that way.” 

Arthur shakes his head, “lying down would put more pressure on the arrow. Percival got him in the bone. Chances are he’ll run till he drops dead.”

Lancelot bites his lip, looking at Percival apologetically before back to Arthur, “with all due respect, Sire, I disagree. The animal is terribly wounded and is probably experiencing shock. It’s likely he collapsed.”  
Arthur’s not in the mood for arguing and jabs a finger at Lancelot’s chest, “with all due respect, Sir Lancelot, I think I’ve been doing this longer than you have. He’s on the run.”

“Arthur, calm down-”

“Quiet, Gwaine. You don’t know either.”

“But I do,” Gwaine bites back, glaring at Arthur, “you’re not the only one who’s hunted most of his life. Stop acting like a know it all and realize Lancelot might be right. I don’t think the stags gone this far either.” 

Leon comes to his King’s defense, walking up behind Arthur and sending a warning glance at Gwaine, “that doesn’t make sense, Gwaine. A stag that old isn’t going to lie down and wait for predators to take advantage of him. Arthur’s right, he’ll run until he physically can’t no more.” 

Elyan and Percival look at each other nervously as Gwaine launches a retort, arguing with both Arthur and Leon. Lancelot pinches the bridge of his nose, now wishing he’d just kept his mouth shut.

Merlin’s just watching from where he was told to stay put, huffing out a breath of air as he kicks some leaves with his feet and tries to drown out their arguing. This isn’t uncommon and usually Merlin stands on the sidelines and watches the knights and king argue like a bar brawl, waiting to see who gives in first and admits defeat. 

(Spoiler alert, it’s never Arthur). 

But now he couldn’t find bickering adults more boring and tiresome. He turns away from them, missing Gwen and Gaius as he sits and waits for their next move. He kinda wishes he would’ve stayed at the castle now. Tracking a poor, dying stag wasn’t exactly the most fun he’s had and now everyone’s gonna be in a bad mood. 

A muffled humming catches his attention and Merlin lifts his head from his hands when he sees a plump little bumble bee land clumsily on a nearby flower, it’s weight sagging the petals down as the bee tries with all it’s might to crawl it’s way to the center. Merlin giggles, reaching forward to give the bee a hand by pushing it’s fuzzy bum up with his pointer finger. Unlike the praying mantis, the bee responds politely, turning to him and buzzing quickly before diving into the nectar of the flower. 

“You’re welcome,” Merlin tells the bee, watching with glee as it sucks up whatever sweetness the flower offers before, almost looking like a drunk, buzzes away from the flower in loops and swirls, circling around Merlin’s head, almost taunting him to follow. Merlin giggles again, standing up and reaching to touch the bee once more. But the bee flutters away, buzzing noisily as he flies deeper in the forest. Merlin chases it, pausing only for a moment to send the group of adults (who are still deep in a debate) a quick glance. Lancelot told him to stay put but he figures they’re busy deciding what to do next about the stag and that he won’t be gone long anyways. They probably won’t even notice with how preoccupied they are. 

Merlin shrugs to himself, running after the bee that almost appeared to have waited for him, buzzing off again when Merlin catches up and tries to capture the bumble bee in his palms. “Wait for me!” he calls after the little bug, darting around trees and scaring some grouse that flap their wings angrily and take to the tree branches for cover. 

Eventually, Merlin follows the bee down a small ravine, slipping down it and miraculously staying on his feet when he gets to the bottom. That surprises him probably more than it should and he turns to smile at the bee when he realizes it’s gone. He can’t even hear the bee. In fact, he realizes he can’t hear anything. Not even the bickering of Arthur and the knights. 

“Oh…” Merlin says to himself, staring up at the ravine. There’s no way he’s getting back up there, he knows that just by looking at it. With a sigh, Merlin decides his best bet is to follow the ravine until the slope gets low enough for him to climb out and then hurry back in the direction he had wandered, hopefully before anyone notices he’s even gone. He can only imagine how mad Arthur would be to find out he ran off especially since he’s already so upset about the stag. The thought alone makes Merlin’s heart quicken. 

As he stumbles along the ravine and through the forest, alone, he tries his hardest not to envision the wolves from the night before and ignore the rustling of little birds in the brush and chipmunks in the trees. Every sound makes him jump now that’s recognized how foolish this was.

Arthur’s going to be so mad. 

“You know what? Forget it!” Arthur snaps, crossing his arms and turning his back on his knights, “let’s just split up then! Gwaine and Lancelot can go back to where they think the stag is, Leon and I will keep going forward.”

“That’s dangerous,” Lancelot says, “we should stay together. What if one group runs into bandits? One won’t know where exactly the other is.” 

“Well have you got any better ideas?”

Lancelot fights the urge to glare at Arthur, he’s being, as what Merlin would so fondly call him, a right prat. Lancelot’s not sure why the King is so snippy with him but he’s losing his patience. Finally he throws his hands up in surrender, shaking his head, “whatever you want, My Lord. We’ll follow your lead.”

“Thank you,” Arthur replies though Lancelot knows he doesn’t mean it, “if we can’t find it by midday we will head back your way. We’re bound to pick up the blood trail just over the knoll.”

Gwaine scoffs to himself, turning away and going to fetch his horse tied to the nearby tree. Lancelot locks eyes with Arthur briefly before sighing and turning to wave Merlin over. 

“Come on, Mer…. Merlin?” 

Lancelot’s eyes dart around the area, scanning the trees and brush, feeling a slight pang of panic, “Merlin!” 

Arthur whips back around, looking at Lancelot searching and marches to him, “what are you-”

“Where’s Merlin?” 

“What do you mean? He was supposed to be with you!”

Lancelot gestures impatiently to the rock Merlin had been told to stay by and the King’s eyes snap to it and blink owlishly. 

Merlin’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all ever heard the cry of a wolf? Like a real, in person cry? It’s…. Literally the most terrifying yet beautiful sound. I live in a pretty remote area and my dad would take my brothers and I for overnight camping/hunting trips. We’d usually tent it in colder months but come summer, if the weather was good, we’d just sleep under the stars in our sleeping bags and let me tell you… nothing shook me more than the cry of a wolf in the middle of the night. It’s nothing like a recording or hearing it on tv. It’s piercing in a kind of unsettling way and when I was younger it used to make me cry lol. And I was never actually afraid of the wolf itself? My dad was always packing but he swore they were too smart to threaten us. It was just their call to one another, so freakin haunting. And maybe it was more terrifying because of the fact I could never see them? Not that I’d want to! Lol. But it was always so so dark out there and that unique cry just made it seem so much more… dark, I guess. If you ever get the chance to hear a wolf howl in person I promise it’ll shake ya. Elk and loons too. Mother nature is just so mournful sounding. 
> 
> So I guess I portrayed my own experience/feelings in this chapter. My bad.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I ain't proud of this one. 
> 
> I hope everything matches up and what not. I wrote about the deer loosely based on experience. I apologize if the deer surviving an arrow doesn't make sense? But you wouldn't believe the wild animals I've encountered with horrible past injuries that they've survived. Animals in the wild are so durable. Nature really does have an impressive way of taking care of its own. My horse cut her leg almost a month and a half ago and I'm STILL giving her treatment -_- I got a little carried away with the animals in this I'm just a wicked animal person. And I love the idea of Merlin just naturally being attached/good with them and vice versa. 
> 
> Also, I don't usually like writing about Merlin's magic. Not like publicly anyways. I just don't feel I know enough so I tend to avoid it (except for that one story). 
> 
> I'm just really unsure of this chapter so... I dunno, it's something? Enjoy. Or don't and totally tell me, I can take it.

“Merlin!” 

“He’s gotta be around here somewhere.”

“Clearly, he’s not.” 

The knights and Arthur had spread out, searching the surrounding area just in case Merlin had stumbled off nearby for whatever reason. But it was becoming more and more painfully obvious wherever the little boy had gone it wasn’t just beyond the trees. 

“Merlin?” Elyan says, using his arms to part a bush. Leon’s searching beside him but turns to the younger knight quickly with a look of disapproval. 

“He wouldn’t be hiding in a bush.”

“We don’t know where he is. He’s tiny now, Leon, he could be anywhere!” 

“This is just unbelievable,” they hear Arthur sneer and turn back to where the King is pacing by a guilty looking Lancelot, “you should’ve been watching him!” 

Lancelot furrows his brows, “I was! Or- I- I only stepped away for a minute-”

“A minute is all it takes!”

Lancelot bites his lip, fighting the urge to yell back as he turns away from the King and mounts his horse. Arthur scoffs, throws his hands up and marches over to where his horse is still tied to a tree. He gathers the reins and swings up into his saddle in one swift motion, turning the horse on its haunches before glaring back at Lancelot. 

“Mount up,” he tells the rest of them as Percival and Gwaine reappear with the rest, “quickly!”

They do as they’re told, wasting no time untying their own mounts and jumping into their saddles before surrounding Arthur. But Arthur’s still staring down Lancelot and the tension is palpable among the men.

Lancelot finally can’t hold back any longer, “something else you wanna say, Sire?”

Arthur narrows his eyes as his horse grows anxious underneath him, feeling the frustration through his rider’s seat as Arthur grips his reins tighter and nudges his horse over towards Lancelot’s with the bump of a heel, “how could you be so careless?”

Lancelot’s mare responds to the stallion bumping into her, throwing her head with a snort as her long forelock spreads out across her eyes, “oh, you want to lecture me?”

“This is your fault, Lancelot!” Arthur accuses, his horse dancing under him with nerves. 

Lancelot glares back, reining his own horse around so the mare’s rump bumps into the royal stallion’s chest, her ears pinned as if to tell the stud to back off, “is it?! You were the one who had to pick an argument. I told Merlin to stay right where he was. He must’ve gotten tired of listening to the bickering and took off. If you had just listened to someone else for a change maybe-”

“That’s horse shit and you know it” Arthur bites back, his horse grunting as the King attempts to settle him down, “you started an argument when there didn’t have to be one and now-”

“Enough!” It’s Gwaine, riding his own gelding between the two horses, forcing the mounts to squeal in protest and break apart and their riders to steady themselves upon their backs. Both Lancelot and Arthur are looking at Gwaine a bit wildly, surprised at his rather uncalled for intrusion. 

“You two are sitting here arguing about arguing while a little Merlin is wandering the woods alone, get a hold of yourselves, will ya? We have to find him before anyone else does. Or anything.”

“He’s right,” it’s Elyan this time, reining his horse in from the other side, “these woods aren’t safe for a child. Warlock or not. We need to start looking if we want to find him before it gets dark.” 

It was a terrifying thought, a young Merlin alone at night in a forest teeming with hungry wildlife and ruthless strangers. And while the boy did have magic it was questionable how strong he really was at this age. Or resourceful. Could he defend himself in time? 

Arthur didn’t want to think about it. He simply nods, jaw tight as he looks away from Lancelot and softens his grip on his reins, his stallion stretching his neck out in relief, “we should split up,” he suggests, again, but this time no one argues it being dangerous like before, “we don’t know which way he’s gone. If we spread out we have a better chance of finding him before it's too dark.” 

“He can’t be too far,” Percival says, “we should meet back here before dark, whether we find him or not, that way we can search through the night together. It’ll be safer, once the sun goes down.” 

Arthur nods again though he hated the thought of not finding Merlin right away, “good idea. We’ll go in pairs.” 

“I’ll go with you, Sire,” Lancelot says on the cusp of caution as he sidesteps his horse up beside Arthur’s, locking eyes with the King and Arthur knows there’s no room for objection. Not unless he wants to start another round of arguing and that’s already been established not needed nor wanted. He’s a little surprised Lancelot volunteers to ride with him so quickly though. He would’ve thought the knight would steer clear of him after their little spat. 

Arthur says nothing, just turns to the rest of his men and pairs them off, “Leon, go with Gwaine. Elyan you go with Percival.”

“And what about the stag, Sire?” Leon asks.

Arthur boots his horse forward, flanked by Lancelot as they head towards the east, “forget the stag. Finding Merlin is the top priority.” 

If anyone had told Merlin he’d be foolish enough to get himself lost in the woods, alone, on this god forsaken hunting trip he would’ve sided with Arthur and told Guinevere he didn’t want to go. Trudging through thick forest brush and tripping over upturned logs and rocks hadn’t exactly been on his mind when he was helping Gwen pack his things and going on and on about how excited he was to get out of the castle. Chores had been boring, sure. But this was just downright terrible. 

Following the length of the ravine had been a bad idea, Merlin knows that much now. It seemed to be never ending. He had said to heck with it and tried climbing it’s steep edge but it was no use with how thick the brush was. The branches and thorn bushes kept snagging on his clothes and clawing at his face. He had enough when one thorn branch in particular had got him in the eye. He nearly lost his balance as he stumbled backwards down the incline, holding his eye as tears welled up and rolled down his cheeks. The stinging was enough to cause himself to plop down among the thickit, holding his wet and sore face in his hands as he waited for the stinging to subside. 

It was then he realized how much he really just wanted Arthur.

Or Lancelot or Gwaine.

Or the knights or Gwen or Gaius. Anyone who’d hold him until his eye stopped stinging.

And all this because he chose to follow a bee. A bee, who mind you, ditched him the second he found himself in a pickle. The praying mantis might have poked him rather harshly but at least she was up front about her intentions. The bee had tricked him and to Merlin that was just plain cruel. He shoulda never helped the bee’s chubby little self into that flower. Some friend he turned out to be. 

Once Merlin can reopen his eyes without there being any pain does he stand back up and continues to march his way through the rough terrain. As he goes he can feel the ground beneath him turn soggy. He looks down to see his boots starting to get swallowed up by cold, thick mud. He powers forward, hoping a faster pace will keep his feet above ground as he maneuvers through all the brush until he can finally see a clearing. He gasps, a smile on his face as he stumbles into a far less dense area of the woods. The grass is short, perhaps plucked by local wildlife, and the trees are tall and round, looming so high overhead Merlin almost falls backwards as he looks up at them. He can see and hear birds chirping happily in their branches, swooping around from one branch to another. There’s squirrels amongst them, chittering as they dart down the trunks and across the sparsely placed rocks. Merlin watches them with fascination and that’s when he hears the sound of water.

He perks up at that, walking across the clearing and through the trees until he sees a small, fast running brook cutting it’s way through the forest. Merlin sits down beside it, taking his boots off and dipping them in the cool water to wash the mud off. He figures Gwen nor Gaius would be pleased if he returns home with muddy boots. 

As he watches the water wash away the mud caked on his boot he’s suddenly hit with the realization it might not be a ‘when’ he gets back but an ‘if.’ He has no clue where he is or where Arthur and the knights are. He hasn’t a single idea as to where Camelot lies from where he is. He’s also just a boy. Alone and lost and afraid. He hates himself for ever even thinking about running off. Lancelot had told him to stay put and he hadn’t listened and now he’s struck with the fear of never getting back home. 

He wobbles to his feet, putting his sopping wet boots back on as he sloshes back the way he came. Where he thinks the knights and Arthur may be. 

“Lancelot!” he calls out, hoping maybe if he’s close enough they’ll hear him, “Arthur! Gwaine?” 

His high pitched voice silences the forest. The birds stop chirping and the squirrels freeze. It’s as if they suddenly noticed he was there at all. Merlin frowns at that. Had he upset them? 

He takes a few more steps forward, trying to ignore how eerie a quiet forest is as he calls out again, this time much more pitiful and he can’t help that his voice breaks as tears bubble up once more, “Elyan? Percy?” 

The critters of the trees follow him with their little eyes, watching his every step as if he were the predator and they had anything to be afraid of. He wishes Arthur would just appear, berate Merlin if he had to, and take him home to Gwen and Gaius where he could be held and comforted and warm. 

“Leon?!”

He gasps when suddenly something calls back. It’s not the voice of a human. It sounds more like a dull roar and at the sound Merlin freezes and the little creatures that had been watching him flee as if that was the cue they needed. Merlin frantically watches them go as he stands in the open, turning all around to see if he could find whatever had made that noise. 

“Hello?”

Only a moment later he hears it again and he hastily runs up the small embankment to his left before he ducks behind the closest tree. That time it sounded like a monster. Merlin was sure of it. Perhaps a pathetic monster since the sound seemed more like a groan than anything else but it’s definitely a monster and Merlin’s little heart is beating wildly in his chest as he brings his knees up and hides his face. 

A few seconds pass before he hears it again. It’s a low, distressing rumble that dies off almost as quickly as it started and Merlin picks his head up as he listens closely. 

Another one follows, this one longer and something about it makes Merlin’s heartbreak. 

Whatever it is, it’s in pain. 

Maybe it’s not a monster. 

Merlin slowly stands back up, peers around the tree as if whatever it was would be there ready to jump him and then takes a few steps out. He hears it again and, against his better judgement, cautiously begins to follow the sound. It takes him back across the clearing, over a knoll and through the trees. He jumps when a bunch of crows fly in a cluster overhead, cawing at him almost to alert his presence. That’s when hears the sound of heavy, labored breathing. Puffs of air almost as if there’s a horse somewhere out here. When Merlin peeks around a bunch of boulders he takes in a harsh breath. 

Lying among a bed of patted down leaves under the overhang of a rocky cliff is the biggest stag Merlin has ever seen. He’s resting on his side, his legs tucked under him and his neck stretched out on the ground, his nostrils flaring and with every breath out clearing the dirt and twigs around his face. He’s bigger than any cow Merlin’s ever come across and the pair of antlers upon his head are wide with age. It’s massive, the main beam being the width of Merlin’s own arm and the points jagging out every which way almost like veins. They’re chaotic, not neat and slick like a young buck. This guy is well lived, the coat of fur around his neck thick like a scarf. 

Merlin doesn’t need to see the arrow dangling from the stag’s chest to know this is Arthur’s infamous buck. 

The stag hadn’t noticed Merlin right off as the boy hunkered down behind the boulder to watch him. But he must catch Merlin’s scent because his beady, black eyes snap open and he raises his head quickly, ears pricked in Merlin’s direction as he seemingly stops breathing, checking out what exactly is lurking behind the rock. 

Merlin knows he’s been caught and slowly comes out, hands up and in front of him to hopefully let the stag know he’s not a threat. But the stag isn’t an ammature, he’s gotten to this ripe old age for a reason, and he’s quick to try and scramble to his feet, grunting and roaring when the movement causes discomfort among the arrow lodged in the point of his shoulder. 

“It’s okay,” Merlin whispers to him and halts a mere meter away. The stag lets out a deep breath, staring at Merlin as if he had actually understood him. There’s a dried up blood trail crusted onto the stag’s otherwise immaculate coat and Merlin thinks this is why they had lost the trail before, the arrow had worked as a plug, seeping further into the flesh with every step and what little blood remained outside had dried up with the sun. 

Merlin’s watching the wound as the deer watches him. He shuffles down until he’s sitting on his knees, the stag’s eyes never leaving him as he studies Merlin with curiosity, breathing out deep, short gasps of air through his nose. 

“You’re hurt,” Merlin tells him as if it’s not obvious and the stag just blinks before he lets out another pained bellow, maybe to agree. Or to say, “no shit.” Merlin’s not sure. 

The little warlock scoots closer, just enough for the stag to curl his neck and tuck his chin in so he can still see Merlin, all of him. Merlin smiles gently at him, the action vaguely reminds him of Zetti and the boy slowly reaches his hand out, finding just a bit of bravery to try and touch the stag. 

He stops when the stag shies his head away to the side, blowing out a warning through his nostrils as he tilts his ear to Merlin. Merlin knows all this stag would have to do is duck his head down and he could pin his tiny body to the forest floor with those antlers, gorge him if the stag really wanted to. But something about this beast didn’t seem threatening to Merlin. He was massive, his rack was big enough Merlin could easily fit his whole body between it, the points were sharp and piercing. But something about the stag was soft, gentle, and timid. 

Merlin reaches out again and the stag quickly turns back to him, eyes wide almost like he was surprised Merlin was still brave enough to try. When the boy’s little hand is close enough the stag sticks his black nose out to investigate, sniffing the offered hand before snorting with a quick head shake. Merlin’s not exactly sure what it means but he scoots that much closer and places his hand between the deer’s eyes, palm flat on the widest plain of his face. Merlin’s hand is of course small thanks to his new body but the size of the stag’s head makes it look almost infant small and he’s struck with wonder at how incredible the creature is up close. He thinks he can understand why Arthur would be so eager to want the stag, his sheer size alone is that of legends. But Merlin can’t fathom actually killing the beast. 

The stag is frozen still, trying to look at Merlin’s hand between his eyes before looking back at Merlin himself. But eventually he eases, relaxing as he sticks his nose out to sniff at Merlin’s shirt, ruffling it and tickling the boy’s tummy. Merlin giggles, pushing the stag’s nose away before scratching it gently. The stag freezes again and then melts into the scratch, his ears lying flat out and his eyes turning soft. 

“You’re pretty,” Merlin tells him quietly with a little smile, “I’m sorry they hurt you. Maybe I can help.” 

He stops petting the stag’s nose and looks down to examine the wound. The arrowhead can’t be seen, it had been totally absorbed into the flesh. But the entrance wound is small, just the size of the arrowhead itself which is good, Merlin thinks. The stag didn’t rip his wound open any more on his journey to escape. 

Merlin, as gently as he can, grabs the shaft and tugs just a little, testing how stuck the head of the arrow is. The stag immediately reacts, struggling to his feet once more and Merlin is quick to duck out of his way, scurrying backwards on his bottom. 

“No, don’t panic!” he tells the deer as calmly as he can, “it’s okay.”

The stag’s not listening though, too preoccupied with getting away. But his shoulder and chest are too paralyzed by pain to work properly and he falls back into a heap on the ground, grunting and panting from his struggle. Merlin watches, eyes wide and mouth o shaped as he stretches his legs out and stares at the stag carefully. He knows he needs to get the arrow out so it doesn’t do anymore damage to the inside of the stag but if the poor buck reacts like that Merlin’s not sure how he’s gonna do it. Even as an adult, it’d be a daunting task. 

Suddenly an idea strikes the little boy and he beams up at the stag who’s still trying to catch his breath.

“I know!” Merlin tells him and crawls back over, sitting beside the stag and reaching out to stroke the deer’s soft coat, hoping to calm him down. It seems to work. 

“I have an idea.” Merlin cups his hand over the entry wound, just enough so his palm is hovering over the lodged arrowhead and he tries really hard to focus. He has yet to use his magic since turning little, afraid after what he had done to himself before. He had always been powerful, always had instinctual magic from the time he could crawl. But the longer he stayed small the more his memories got fuzzy and at this point he’s just praying nothing goes amidst. 

His eyes burn gold for the few seconds he focuses on the wound, his hand emitting a sort of warmth the stag can suddenly feel, his eyes darting down to the hand over the arrow as he snorts at it, obviously perplexed at the feeling of numbness. Merlin sticks his little tongue out as he concentrates, trying really hard to be tactile as he reaches over and grabs the shaft of the arrow and very, very slowly begins to pull. If he was strong enough he would’ve broken the shaft. But he fears he’s not so he hopes by going slow the arrowhead won’t pop off and he can take the whole thing out in one piece.

For the first time in what feels like a while, things go right for Merlin. He can feel his magic guiding the arrowhead out, protecting the sensitive flesh around it. The socketed arrowhead slips out, drenched in bright red blood and Merlin breaths out a sigh of relief as his magic suddenly disappears and his eyes go back to normal. He only has a few seconds to celebrate before the open wound in the side of the stag’s chest begins to leak blood. Merlin gasps, quickly reaching forward to cover it with his hands. The lack of magic allows the stag to feel the pain and he shifts nervously, grunting as he attempts to, rather pathetically, get away from the pressure Merlin’s pressing into the injury. 

“Don’t be a wimp,” Merlin chides him teasingly and quickly reaches up to untie his neckerchief before bundling it up and pressing it back onto the stag’s wound, “that’s what Arthur would say to me. He’s the one who kinda did this to you.”

He doesn’t bother to explain to the stag that it was actually Percvial who took the shot. It was Arthur who had organized the hunt after this stag in the first place. Merlin feels he should take the blame. 

The stag looks to Merlin, blinking slowly and the little boy knows he must be exhausted from the eventful day he’s had. Merlin reaches up to stroke him between his eyes again, never minding the blood coating his hand, “are you sleepy?”

The stag closes his eyes in response, whether because he was tired or was enjoying the scratches Merlin’s not sure but he smiles at the deer anyways. The stag leans closer, his head the size of Merlin’s torso but the little boy doesn’t mind him so close. For such a big and imposing beast Merlin thought he was pretty sweet. Docile like an old, weathered horse. 

“I think you need an adult,” Merlin admits in a shaky voice as he pulls the stained neckerchief away from the stag’s wound, blood pouring out slowly. Merlin grimaces at it. He doesn’t think it’s nearly as bad as the knights and Arthur had first suspected it was. The arrow wasn’t in that far and the head was small. But it’s still an open wound that hasn’t stopped bleeding yet and Merlin knows that’s not good. 

Merlin pokes an end of the neckerchief into the wound just enough to clog it, the action causing the stag to jolt the slightest, looking at the fabric questionably.

“To stop the bleeding,” Merlin tells him, “well… hopefully.”

Merlin gets to his feet, patting the deer on the forehead, “I gotta find Arthur and everybody. Maybe they can help you. Stay here! I’ll be back!” 

The stag pricks its ears when Merlin stumbles, literally stumbles, to his feet and hurries back the way he came. A weak bleat is let out after the boy, the deer calling for him and Merlin just knows the poor thing is crying out in desperation of not wanting to be alone. And for a moment, Merlin thinks he can relate. When he looks back the stag is staring at him longingly, eyes big and neck stretched out. Merlin quickly runs back over, unable to resist the stag’s adorable expression, and places a little kiss right above the deer’s nose.

“I promise.” 

The stag is still watching closely as the boy hurries away but this time he remains quiet, only snorting when Merlin trips. Again. Merlin swears the stag did it to mock him but he pays it no mind as he scrambles back up right and runs back over the knoll and down into the sparse area in the forest he had first come to. He turns every which way, gauging which would be best to try and find Arthur and the knights. This is serious now. It’s not just about him but a poor, helpless stag. 

That’s what Merlin keeps telling himself as he pushes himself to run through the forest, calling out for Arthur and the knights as he goes. The brush thickens again, roots breaching the soil and attempting to catch Merlin’s feet with each step. The boy is careful, careful as he can be as he runs clumsily over them. His luck runs out when his toes catch one just right and Merlin falls once more to his front, groaning when he hits the ground and feeling frustrated with himself as he pushes himself up. 

The little warlock finds his knees sore from that fall as he dusts his tunic and pants off. He’s tempted to just rip his boots and socks off altogether and toss them aside, having been barefoot most his childhood left him far more capable without such necessities. He thinks maybe he’d be more agile without them and as he sits on his bum to take them off he hears the sound of a single twig snap. 

He freezes, boot half off as he feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He lifts his head slowly and his blood runs cold when his eyes are met with a pair of fierce amber colored ones. 

Before him, perhaps only a few horse lengths away, stands a wolf. Fur as black as Merlin’s own hair and twice as thick. The wolf is massive, his head hung low and his eyes glued to Merlin as the boy carefully and slowly wiggles his boot back on. Merlin watches him, his mouth dry and heart beating in his ears. He’s heard stories of wolf encounters in the past, man versus beast in the ultimate showdown between mother nature’s most fierce predators. Out of everything the forests had to offer the wolf was the most fearsome. Merlin can vaguely remember being told they could shred a single, unarmed man to the bone in the blink of any eye. 

He doesn’t want to think about what they could do to a child. 

The wolf doesn’t pounce, however. In fact, the wolf doesn’t move at all. He stands there, rooted to his spot, head hung so low his nose is nearly touching the ground and his eyes almost seem to glow as he stares, unblinking, back into Merlin’s. Merlin can feel a shiver crawl up the back of his spine the longer they lock eyes. Part of him wants to run. Another feels bound to the earth beneath him, waiting for the wolf to make the first move. 

Right away, Merlin knows two things for sure. One, this was one of the wolves who had been calling out the night before. The little boy can still hear the haunting sound of their cries. And two, this was no ordinary wolf. This was the leader.

Merlin knew a king when he saw one. 

He just wishes he had run into his king first. 

After everyone had split up, Arthur and Lancelot had rode together in relative silence, minus the calling out for Merlin as they went. They received no answer, not even a clue as to where the boy had gone and as the day grew so didn’t their concern. Arthur shouted out with more venom then he intended but he couldn’t help it. Part of him wanted to whack Merlin for doing something so stupid. But another part just wanted to scoop him up and gallop back to Camelot and keep the boy safe in the castle with him and Guinevere until Gaius returned. 

“Mer-lin!” 

Lancelot was feeling much the same but Arthur would only know based on body language alone. The knight had barely looked at Arthur let alone speak to him and the King was beginning to wonder why the hell Lance would have ever volunteered to ride with him in the first place. The knight rode in tension so strained Arthur could see the whitened knuckles even from his horse a few paces away. Lancelot was worrying his bottom lip raw, his eyes widened as they scanned the trees and brush and his jaw tight when he wasn’t calling out to the boy. His anguish at not finding Merlin (and perhaps for losing him to begin with) was becoming more and more tangible and Arthur was beginning to feel bad for being so hard on him. 

Arthur pulls his horse in, reaching out to grab the reins of Lancelot’s mare to effectively stop the horse mid step and causes her to toss her head at the disturbance. Lancelot is cut off halfway through Merlin’s name, quickly looking at the King disgruntled and quite baffled, “what are you-”

“We’ll find him,” it’s a statement but it comes out more of a demand. And Arthur kind of thinks it is. A demand that his knight holds the faith. 

Lancelot’s features melt from waspish to something much more vulnerable and unsure. He shakes his head slowly, avoiding Arthur’s eyes as he looks down, “we don’t know that for sure. These woods stretch on for miles, he could be anywhere.” 

Arthur snorts, releasing the mare’s reins and gathering up his own, “Merlin’s barely capable of gaining a mile as an adult. He couldn’t have gotten far. We just have to keep our eyes open and listen closely. Even if we have to turn over every rock and tree, we’ll find him.” 

“What if he’s hurt, Sire? Or someone took him? Or something?”

Arthur feared that as well. A bandit picking up little Merlin and kidnapping him or the little boy stumbling upon an unfriendly beast. Both were a nagging fear in the back of the King’s mind as he trudged through the forest, just hoping and praying Merlin would pop out from behind a tree, a boyish grin on his round little face as he admitted to playing some sick joke on them or something. 

“If someone took him, they’d return him. He’s grumpy when he’s overtired and asks a hundred and one questions even if he knows the answer. And nothing would attack, I don’t think. He’s barely a snack with his size.” 

It was a poor attempt at a joke, to ease both their worries, but it falls flat as Lancelot practically winces at the King’s words, his shoulders rising and lips turned down. Arthur lets out a sigh, nudging his horse forward as he leads the way, muttering a sorry as he goes. 

They move forward in silence once more, except for their calls that ring through the forest and disrupt birds from the trees and send little critters running for cover. 

“Merlin!” Arthur shouts, desperate for any sign the little boy was nearby (and safe), “you get your little arse out here right now, young man!” 

Lancelot’s about to follow with his own call but quickly slaps his mouth shut and turns to the King a little alarmed, “that doesn’t sound welcoming.”

“It’s not supposed to. He’s done wrong, taking off like this. He should know it.”

“What child is gonna come running to that?” Lancelot says back before shouting out, “Merlin! C’mon, lad! We’re worried about you!” 

Arthur scrunches up his nose, “please, Lancelot. What will he learn if you baby him like that?”

“It’s not babying Arthur. He’s alone and probably very afraid right now-”

“He should have never taken off,” Arthur nearly growls, a stony expression coming over his eyes, “what the hell was he thinking? This is completely irresponsible of him-”

“He’s a child-”

“That’s not an excuse!” Arthur nearly explodes and a tense silence follows after. Lancelot knows from experience the King sometimes tends to mask his emotions, especially fear, in anger and frustration and feels it’s best to just let it go. This isn’t the first time the King has been separated from his manservant due to unfavorable circumstances and every time Arthur could be a right nightmare to deal with, bouncing from one mood to the other. 

“Hold up.”

Lancelot halts his horse, leaning forward to see what’s stopped Arthur. In front of them is a ravine and while it’s not very tall it’s definitely steep and thick with thorn bushes. Arthur studies it for a moment before dismounting his horse, gesturing to Lancelot to do the same. They both tie their horses to the nearby trees before heading back to the top of the ravine and looking down. Arthur pulls out his sword and points down to the bottom, where the ground is dark with wet soil, “look.” 

Lancelot follows the direction the sword is pointing. The ground is perfectly flat, untouched by even the debris of fallen leaves that had been left over from the previous fall except for a smattering of some imprints. Little imprints. 

Footprints. 

Lancelot unsheathes his own sword and takes an aggressive swipe at the brush as he plods with careful steps down the ravine, clearing a path for the King who follows swiftly behind him. Thanks to the ravine’s rather steep incline they make it to the bottom quickly, Arthur stumbling into Lancelot’s back once the knight has come to a stop. 

Arthur gently pushes Lancelot aside as he studies the prints, crouching to get a better look before giving his knight a curt nod, “footprints. Little ones. It’s gotta be Merlin.”

“Hell,” Lancelot breathes out, following the footprints with his eyes as he watches them lead a small trail through the brush, “what was he doing all the way out here?”

Arthur shakes his head, “I don’t know. He must’ve fallen down the hill.”

“You think so?”

“How else would he have gotten down here? He’s certainly clumsy enough.”

“Do you think he’s hurt?” Lancelot asks, concern laced in his voice and Arthur’s jaw tightens. 

“I’m not sure. We need to find him quickly, let’s go.” 

Arthur takes the lead this time, hacking away at the brush with his sword with perhaps more vigor than necessary. It’s getting on in the day and with each inch the sun takes towards the west Arthur can feel the heavy pit of worry grow inside him. He tries to remind himself Merlin’s been in worse situations before, dealt with far more pressing matters and has gotten himself out of every perilous predicament before almost always unscathed. Almost. But then he’s hit with the bitter reminder that this Merlin isn’t the same Merlin as before. This Merlin is hardly a meter high and can barely lift a sword and likes to hear stories before bed and has freckles. He cries when he’s hurt or scared and likes to be chased and play hide and seek when he’s happy and, maybe Arthur’s losing it, but he just can not bear the thought of the little boy alone, possibly injured, and forced to spend the night in a dangerous forest without the protection of Arthur or the knights. The little boy couldn’t even stand to be in his own room in Gaius’s chambers alone. Arthur gets a mental image of a little Merlin, tucked in the bed that was now far too big for him as he nervously played the end of his quilt and looked up at Arthur with pleading eyes, telling him how he’d do anything Arthur asked if the King just stayed with him until he fell asleep and how he ‘didn’t like the dark much.’ 

Arthur hacks at a vine as though it were an enemy, slicing it in two with ease and parting through it. He was finding Merlin before the sun set and that was that. 

Suddenly, Arthur stops. Lancelot does too, breathing slightly labored from the trek as he stares at the King’s back questionably, “what are you doing?” 

“Shh,” Arthur shushes him, his brows knitted together in concentration as he listens closely, “did you hear that?”

Lancelot holds his breath, ears alert as he tries to hear whatever it is Arthur did. He waits a few moments before shaking his head and letting out the air he had been holding, “no. What was it?” 

“My name. I thought I heard my name.”

“Merlin?” 

“It has to be,” Arthur looks up, eyes darting around in front of him, “we’re close, let’s keep going.” 

The footprints become less visible as the ground grows hard but Arthur and Lancelot aren’t giving up as they continue to trudge through the brush, cutting and clearing a way as they go. Within minutes the thickening begins to thin out and they’re able to just maneuver through it without their swords. But Arthur keeps his drawn, just in case. He’s struck with a sudden feeling. A bad one. It sits upon his chest with an unwelcome weight. 

And that’s when he sees it. 

Arthur comes to a dead stop, quickly grabbing Lancelot by the bicep roughly and the knight's eyes widen when he sees it too. There, back to, stands a wolf. Big and black and still as stone. And while the sight of a wolf is enough to raise concern, that's not what has the two men’s hearts nearly beating out of their chest. In front of the wolf, sitting on the ground, is Merlin. 

The little boy is staring at the wolf, lips parted and eyes big. He hasn’t noticed them and neither has the beast. Lancelot slowly and quietly unsheathes his sword once more, looking to Arthur as he nods to his right, indicating he’ll take the right while Arthur takes the left. 

Arthur quickly shakes his head no. Wolves are smart. Too smart. The breeze in the air is working against them and it won’t be long before the beast knows they’re there. They’re probably only ten meters away but Arthur reckons they can cover the ground quickly. The best bet would be to charge the beast, making as much noise as possible and hopefully scaring the wolf so suddenly he won’t have time to think about anything other than to run. 

In hopes of not giving up their presence before they do, Arthur signals a direct charge with his hand. Lancelot seems unsure, looking at Merlin pitted in front of the creature, seemingly so small and unprotected before looking back at Arthur. The King doesn’t have the time nor means to assure his knight this is the best course of action, he can merely hope Lancelot will understand that Arthur would only ever do what he felt was their best chance. 

And Merlin’s. 

Arthur gives the countdown with three head nods, ending with a chopping motion with his hand before the two break into a run, charging the beast from behind with shouts of feral calls.

The sudden intrusion and break in the silence is enough to jump both Merlin and the wolf from their stare down. The wolf finally raises its head, turning to look behind him quickly before running right for the little boy in front of him. Merlin gasps, tucking his head in but the wolf has no intentions of stopping as he whizzes by Merlin’s body and disappears into the thick woods behind him, gone before Merlin can even uncover his face and whip around to see him go. 

The presence of the wolf galloping by him takes the breath right out of the little warlock’s lungs and he’s suddenly aware of how close he had actually been to such a beast. Close enough he could count the dark brown rings among the amber colored irises. As he tries to catch his breath he can’t help but think while the wolf may have been absolutely terrifying in all sense of the word he was also, dare Merlin say it, beautiful. 

Merlin doesn’t have much time to dwell anymore on the wolf when suddenly he’s gripped by his upper arms and shaken just enough for him to snap back around to where he sees Lancelot holding onto him and looking at him rather wildly. 

“What the hell, Merlin?!” he exclaims and Merlin vaguely thinks this is the first time Lancelot’s ever sworn at him, “what were you thinking taking off like that? Are you hurt?”

Merlin shakes his head no quickly, mouth clamped shut as he takes in a ruffled looking Lancelot. Usually the knight is every bit of calm and reasonable as can be. Even in times of dire straits Lancelot has always managed to keep his head and seeing him even slightly undone is a little more than just unsettling to the boy. 

Lancelot’s eyes are searching Merlin’s face, waiting for the boy to explain or show any signs of being hurt or even just say anything. But Merlin doesn’t right away. Instead, his eyes suddenly grow watery and he tries his best to fight the urge to let his tears fall. His bottom lip begins to wobble as he mumbles, “M’ sorry.” 

It’s rather pitiful, Merlin knows, and certainly not enough to cause everyone to worry and put a stop to the stag hunt. But it’s all he can muster at the moment. After being scared, alone, lost and completely vulnerable in front of the forest’s most terrifying beast to say Merlin’s feeling a little emotional is a bit of an understatement. 

And thank god for Lancelot because the knight just knows when Merlin’s at his breaking point, child or not. He relaxes, his grip on the boy’s shoulder loosening as his own shoulders settle and he gathers the child up in his arms, holding him and rocking him just the slightest as Merlin tucks his face into the fabric of Lancelot’s tunic and really tries hard to hold it together. 

There’s a new, sudden warmth gently placed upon Merlin’s back. A third palm spread out between Lancelot’s and Merlin lifts his head to look behind him. Arthur’s crouched down close to them, locking eyes with the little boy and, despite his anger from before, tries to offer Merlin a little bit of a smile. 

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says again, his voice breaking somewhere in the middle as he reaches up to rub at his eyes. Arthur looks to Lancelot and the knight nods to Merlin, encouraging Arthur to take the lead. 

Arthur blinks, mouth opening and closing before he settles with, “it’s… alright, Merlin.”

And apparently he said something wrong because Lancelot shoots him almost an offended look, “no. No, Merlin it’s not alright,” he corrects, his hand rubbing the little boy’s back, “I told you to stay put and you took off. That’s not alright. You had everyone worried and out looking everywhere for you. What happened?” 

Merlin pouts through his tears, hating having to be lectured but knowing he did wrong enough to deserve one, “I-... I saw a bee.” 

“A bee?” Arthur asks, confused. 

Merlin nods, “y-you guys just kept fighting and I.. I saw a bee and followed it and I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to make everyone mad.” 

“We’re not mad, Merlin,” Lancelot tells him gently and Arthur raises his eyebrows at him as if to say ‘speak for yourself’, “we’re just disappointed.” 

Arthur tilts his head at Lance, lips thinned and eyes slightly humored. They have a silent conversation while Merlin wipes at more tears, Lancelot huffing slightly at Arthur taking a silent jab at his choice of words. 

“I think what schoolmaster Lancelot is trying to say,” Arthur says, smirking slightly when Lancelot gives him a bit of a glare, “is that we’re just glad you’re safe. But no more taking off. That was incredibly dangerous and little boy or not you know better.”

Merlin nods, sniffling just a little and Arthur hums, reaching out to pat the little boy on top of the head when suddenly Merlin’s got his little arms wrapped tight around the King’s neck, the action almost causing Arthur to lose his balance as he wraps an arm around Merlin’s middle to steady them both. 

“Uh,” Arthur starts, looking to Lancelot but the knight has already stood up, searching around for the way back. 

Arthur’s hugged Merlin before and his manservant was always playfully offering one, usually just to get under Arthur’s skin, but Arthur can’t remember the last time he’s ever hugged a small child, if ever. The sentiment is, however, heart warming and the King squeezes back, patting the boy between the shoulder blades and allowing him to hug for as long as he needs. 

Suddenly, Merlin’s springing backwards, eyes stained wet but otherwise tears having dried up as he looks to Arthur frantically, “the stag! I found him!” 

“You-.. what?”

“The stag you shot! I found him and he needs help!” 

Lancelot’s turned to them now and he and Arthur share a glance before the King looks back at Merlin, “are you sure it’s our stag?” 

“Yes! He had the arrow in him, where you got him.”

“Okay, Percival took the shot,” Arthur amends with a single finger and Merlin almost rolls his eyes. 

“He’s hurt, Arthur. He needs help!” 

“I reckon he would be hurt,” Arthur stands back up, grabbing Merlin’s hand and tugging him along in the direction they had come, “we gotta get back to the horses, find everyone else, and get you back to the castle where I don’t have to worry about you so much. Guinevere will have a fit when she finds out I let you out of my sight.” 

Merlin digs his little heels in, reaching up to wriggle his hand free from Arthur’s grasp, “noo! Arthur, wait!” 

“Merlin,” Lancelot adminishes, following along, “Arthur’s right. It’s getting late and we need to find the others.”

“But he’s hurt and I promised I’d be back to help! We can’t just leave him!” 

“It’s a deer, Merlin,” Arthur sighs, “he doesn’t understand promises. And he wouldn’t let us close enough to help him. On our way back to Camelot tomorrow we will see if we can track him again and put him out of his misery but our first priority is getting home.”

“No,” Merlin stands firm, finally slipping his hand free and looking up at Lancelot and Arthur with his knuckles on his hips, “he’s alone and scared and hurt and needs help. He’s waiting for me.”

Arthur narrows his eyes at Merlin, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He knows that look on Merlin’s face. It’s the same one he uses when he’s ready to fight tooth and nail against the King, whatever the reason may be. Sometimes it’s because Merlin doesn’t have a good feeling about something or someone, other times it’s because the warlock just feels he’s fighting for what’s right. Either way, when Merlin gets like this, Arthur can’t help but begrudgingly admit he never wins. 

A moment of silence passes between the three of them and Lancelot looks from Merlin to Arthur as the two stare each other down. Or, well, Arthur stares Merlin down. The little boy is looking up, his chest puffed out as much as he can. Finally, Arthur sighs, his arms falling lamely to his side. 

“How far?”

Merlin’s complete demeanor changes at that. His face lights up with a broad, thankful smile as he bounds forward to grasp both Arthur and Lancelot’s hands and begins to attempt to drag the both of them in the direction he had left the stag. 

“This way! Not far, I promise. He’ll be so glad to see you!”

Arthur humors the boy, trailing behind him as he grips his little hand in his big one. Lancelot shoots the King a worrisome look from behind Merlin, “is this a good idea?” 

Arthur merely shrugs, “if it’s not a far walk. I doubt there’s much we can do for a stag, not that it’d let us. You hear that Merlin?” 

Merlin doesn’t seem perturbed as he continues to lead them, eager to get back to the wounded creature quickly, “he’s not just any stag. Wait till you see him!” 

“Mhm,” Arthur hums, obviously not convinced but again, he’s humoring the boy if not for any other reason than he doesn’t want to have to deal with a crotchety, mopey child all the way back to Camelot. 

That and he really didn’t want to see Merlin cry again. 

It was… heartbreaking, to say the least. 

They follow the boy quite aways and Arthur’s nitpicking as they go, commenting on how this really shouldn’t be taking that long but Merlin doesn’t seem phased as he crosses a clearing and leads them up over a knoll and shushes them with a finger to his lips as he approaches some boulders cautiously, gesturing for the men to do the same. 

When Arthur and Lancelot peer around the stone as Merlin does, their eyes immediately land upon the massive beast still lying on his side, breathing evenly in large puffs of air as his nose hovers over his wound. Lancelot takes in a deep breath, gripping Merlin’s shoulder when the little warlock leans out further.

“Stay here,” he tells the boy under his breath. This is by far the largest stag he has ever laid eyes on and the knight briefly wonders if it’s even a deer at all and not an elk with its wide and sharp rack that has more points upon it then Lancelot even thought capable of. 

“Shit,” Arthur curses as he stares awestruck at the beast that seems to almost be consumed in a slumber. But the stag’s eyes snap open at the voice and his head rises so quickly the fur around his neck lifts and falls with the air. Hunter and prey lock eyes and Arthur’s heart quickens when he realizes this is the closest he’s ever been to the elusive legend he’d been chasing for a while now. He carefully and stealthily brings his sword out, positioning it low as he takes a single step out from behind the boulder. 

Merlin’s eyes darted from the stag to Arthur and zero in on the sword at the King’s side, ready for attack, and the little boy’s not sure he'd ever acted quite so fast. 

“No!” he shouts, jumping from Lancelot’s grasp and grabbing the hilt of Arthur’s sword, forcing the blade to swipe dangerously across the air and stab into the ground to Arthur’s right, crossing his midline and effectively throwing the King off balance. 

Arthur glares down at the boy, “Merlin! What the hell are you doing?” he nearly shouts as he grabs Merlin by the back of the tunic and hauls him away from the sword, flipping the weapon so the blade is shielded behind him and away from the reckless child. “You know better.”

And really he should. While Merlin didn’t deal with a sword often other than for cleaning that didn’t mean Arthur didn’t take the time to teach his manservant proper handling of such a sharp and heavy object. Especially since Merlin had kept coming back to him with bloodied fingers and palms. Ignorance, when it came to the sword, was certainly not bliss. 

Nor acceptable and Arthur opens his mouth to berate his boyservant for such careless behavior but Merlin beats him to it, “don’t hurt him!” 

“You-... the stag?”

“Yes! He’s been hurt enough already.” 

Arthur looks back to the stag that watches him with big, knowing eyes. He’s still enough to be a statue, not even breathing as his sights are trained solely on Arthur and his weapon. 

“He’s badly wounded, Merlin. It’s only fair to put him out of his misery.”

“He’s not! I took the arrow out myself, see?” and then Merlin’s breaking away and darting to the stag. Lancelot attempts to grab him again, hissing, “Merlin!” as the boy ignores him. 

Arthur’s quicker, having been on his feet, and shoots a hand out to grab Merlin’s arm as he stops the boy and brings him back in, face stern, “what are you doing?!”

“He’s not dangerous,” Merlin tells him gently, eyes full of innocent certainty as he gazes back at Arthur, “come see.” 

Merlin’s taking his hand again and guiding him towards the stag who’s relaxed a little now that he could see Merlin once more. But Arthur’s hesitant, male deer of normal size could be ghastly things when fleeing from a situation wasn’t an option and given this stag was surrounded by a rocky wall behind him and hindered by the wound at the point of his shoulder Arthur only assumed the beast would choose to fight. 

But miraculously he doesn’t, though he does stiffen as Merlin brings Arthur over, beast and King both equally weary of the other as the boy acts as a bridge between them. 

“Okay, that’s enough, Merlin,” Arthur tells him quietly and plants his feet when they’re a couple arms lengths away. Merlin looks at him questionably before taking a few steps and reaching his hand out towards the stag who meets him halfway by stretching his neck and touching Merlin’s palm with his nose, blowing a puff of air upon it with his ears pricked.   
Merlin smiles, slipping his hand from Arthur’s and placing his little palm flat against the deer’s face like he had done when he promised he’d return. The stag stays completely still much to Arthur’s fascination. The King turns back to find Lancelot slowly coming out from behind the rock, still unsure but curious at such unnatural behavior of such a creature. 

“Look,” Merlin’s voice gets Arthur’s attention once more and the little boy bends to pull his neckerchief out from the deer’s wound, a large section of the corner soaked maroon. “I got the arrow out and the bleedings slowed but it still hurts him.” 

Arthur takes the few more steps needed to get a better look, crouching beside Merlin and examining it with narrowed eyes, “I’m sure it will. He’s lucky. Percival’s shot was bad for us but worked out in his favor. See here?” Arthur sticks his hand out, circling around the wound with his finger, “he has some fairly thick bone in there. It no doubt stopped the arrow from penetrating any further.”

“Like a shield?” Merlin asks inquisitively. Arthur gives him a grin, “like a shield.”

Merlin smiles back, “he’s armoured. Just like when you wear your armour!” 

“Well… I suppose.”

“So will you help him?”

“I’m afraid there’s not much I can do Merlin. Unless infection sets in the wound should heal just fine on it’s own.”

“Infection?” Merlin repeats, fearful like a worried mother as he touches his lips gingerly and gazes at the wound, “can’t that kill him?”

Arthur’s about to reply, maybe even lie a little to help ease the boy’s concerns, but suddenly Lancelot’s crouching down on the other side of Merlin, satchel in hand as he pulls out a little bottle half filled with a dark liquid. 

“What if we put some of this in it?” 

“Where’d you get that?” Arthur asks, nose scrunched up.

“From the Queen. Along with bandages and other medicines.”

If possible, Arthur’s face scrunches up even more and Lancelot scoffs, “in case Merlin got hurt or came down with a cold. You should always come prepared when traveling with children, anything can happen. Clearly.” 

“Let me see it,” Arthur says reaching around Merlin and snagging the bottle before popping the top off and taking a whiff and nodding in agreement, “wouldn’t hurt.” 

Arthur eyes the deer again who’s slowly reaching out to smell Lancelot’s arm. The knight seems frozen as he lets the deer do so, watching out of the corner of his eye. Merlin giggles, scratching the stag’s cheek and gesturing for Lancelot to do the same. Lancelot does it, if not for Merlin, but he smiles when the stag blinks slowly, relaxing at the gentle touches. 

He can’t help the low whistle as he takes in the deer’s massive frame, especially his antlers that seem almost impossible to hold up on a single head alone, “aren’t you something.” 

“Would’ve looked better mounted in the dining hall,” Arthur murmurs as he takes the clean end of Merlin’s neckerchief and dabs the dark liquid on it. The boy shoots him a glare, “don’t say that stuff around him. He’s already had a bad day.” 

Arthur rolls his eyes, waving the boy and Lancelot back, “step away so he doesn’t knock you down with his rack. This may sting.” 

Lancelot scoots back, taking Merlin with him with an arm around the boy’s waist. Merlin stands between the knight’s crouched legs, watching Arthur intently, “don’t hurt him.” 

“I’m certainly not intending to,” Arthur whispers as he ever so gently presses the cloth to the wound. The stag snorts and the reaction causes the King to jump, embarrassingly enough. But Arthur holds firm when the deer just stiffens and looks away as if to signify he understands what the King must do but he’s not entirely happy about it. It makes Arthur’s lips turn up just the slightest.

When he presses enough to get the liquid dripped into the wound he pulls away and covers the bottle back up, tossing it to Lancelot.

Lancelot catches it one handed with a frown, “that’s it?” 

“Nature has a way of healing itself. I don’t want to obstruct any natural processes. He’s rested, gained his strength, now he just has to gather his wits and the more he walks and eats and tends to it himself the better he’ll be.” 

“You sure he won’t die?” Merlin asks, voice small and soft as he watches the stag nervously. Arthur stands up, taking a few steps back. 

“No, I’m not a deer physician. But he’s survived worse, I’m sure of that. We should get him up and moving, help get him out of whatever shock he might be in.” 

Merlin seems unsure, not wanting to cause any more unnecessary stress to the poor stag but Lancelot agrees, standing up and gently pushing Merlin back and out of the way as nods to Arthur. 

The King claps and shoos the stag away awkwardly, flapping his hands at him and clucking like one would to a horse, “go. Get. Come on.” 

The stag seems alert at the gestures but makes no attempt to move. Instead he turns to look at Arthur with his ears forward, almost seeming entertained by him. Arthur frowns.

“Allow me, Sire,” Lancelot volunteers and lets out a high pitched whistle as he claps his hands together loudly, “up you beast, get!” 

The stag responds to that, stumbling to his feet rather ungracefully. He favors the leg the wound sits above but is able to put weight on it as he scrambles to take a few steps away, whipping his head now in Lancelot’s direction. The knight repeats his action, clapping again and this time the stag bounds away, regaining his balance as he leaps over the brush and stops to look back once more. 

This time Merlin waves, smiling proudly at the stag. He’s even more magnificent on all four feet regardless of the bit of lameness thanks to his wound. The stag snorts back and hurries off into the trees, disappearing almost too quickly for Merlin’s liking. The boy’s smile fades, fearful for the deer as he thinks of the big wolf he encountered a little bit ago. He hopes the stag isn’t unlucky enough to encounter two types of predators in one day. 

“Don’t worry, Merlin,” Arthur says as he lays a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder, “he’ll be fine.” 

Merlin doesn’t say anything, just nods and leans away when Arthur ruffles his hair, “we should start heading back. We have men to find and horses to retrieve. I’d like to regroup before it gets too dark.” 

Heading back the way they came was easier when they were able to follow along the top of the ravine. The brush was thinned greatly at the top but Arthur still clears a path with his sword since much of the thickit was Merlin level. The little boy followed dutifully along, sandwiched between the King and the knight so he couldn’t wander out of sight again. Not that Merlin was going to, thank you very much. He learned his lesson and he wasn’t planning on leaving either of the sides anytime soon. 

Not long into their journey back to the horses, Merlin grows tired and a bit whiny, complaining of Arthur taking too long of strides as the boy makes light of trying to step into his footprints, anything to evade his boredom as they hike through the woods. 

“Look for the others Merlin, they could be around.” 

“I can’t see over the bushes!”

Eventually, Lancelot offers to piggyback the boy and Merlin’s mood changes significantly, happy to be off his own feet and able to see more than just brush. Merlin’s rambling on about his adventure he had taken alone, filling Lancelot and Arthur in on the treacherous bee who led him astray when suddenly a booming voice cuts out through the forest. 

“Who goes there?” 

Arthur and Lancelot both stop up quickly and whirl around. They see two chestnut horses advance towards them, Gwaine and Leon on their backs. Leon looks relieved, sharing a collective sigh among the other men as he halts his horse. Gwaine, on the other hand, looks ecstatic, quickly throwing a leg over his horse’s neck and plopping to his feet before striding up to Lancelot and plucking the little boy off his back and holding him up with a grin, “I found him!” he exclaims jokingly and Merlin laughs as the knight playfully tickles his sides, “he was right behind you this whole time, Lancelot! You silly man.” 

It’s obviously a joke more so to make Merlin laugh (and the little boy certainly does) but Lancelot can’t help his cheeks pinking just a little anyways as he looks to Gwaine a bit glazed. The boisterous knight just winks, settling Merlin back to his feet and messes his hair up lightheartedly.   
The boy practically bounces on his tiptoes as he grins up Gwaine, “I found the stag!” 

“What?” Gwaine asks, looking to Arthur and Lance for confirmation. Lancelot nods while Arthur shakes his head, “we’ll tell you later. Have you seen Percival and Elyan?”

“Not since we all separated,” Leon tells him from his horse, “would you like us to go looking for them?” 

“No. We’ll go back to where we split and wait for them while we settle in for the night. We’re not making it back Camelot this late in the day.” 

Merlin feels a little guilty at that but can’t help but also feel a bit excited at the prospect of another sleepover with the knights again. He rides back to where Arthur and Lancelot’s horses are tied with Gwaine, sitting in front of the knight and telling him about the stag. Gwaine oh’s and ah’s when appropriate, giving the little boy his full attention as Merlin fills him in.

“Is that true?” Leon asks Arthur, as the King unties his horse’s reins and adjusts his saddle before mounting up. 

“Yes. Percival’s shot wasn’t life threatening, I don’t think. I’ll have to assure him he didn’t cause the stag to go to waste.”

“And you let him go?” Leon asks again, this time his surprise is evident in his tone, looking at Arthur like he couldn’t believe him. Arthur gathers his reins as he waits for Lancelot to mount and shrugs with a nod. 

“This time.”

Merlin glares at him from his place in front of Gwaine and Arthur smirks back, giving the little boy a wink of his own as he takes the lead and heads back to where they had originally stopped to begin with. 

They make camp again as they wait for Percival and Elyan to return, gathering kindling and starting a fire as Merlin and Gwaine draw in the dirt with sticks. Arthur’s tending to the fire intently, blowing just enough air to encourage the larger log to catch a flame when someone takes a seat next to him.

He turns to see Lancelot settling down, legs stretch out in front of him as he rests his elbows on his knees, eyeing Arthur’s small fire with uncertainty, “perhaps more kindling, Sire?”

“The stuff around here is mostly green but thanks.” 

Lancelot grins, taking the long stick beside the fire and prodding it underneath one of the logs before lifting it slightly, allowing air to ignite a tiny flame from below. Arthur scoffs with a chuckle, “I was getting there.” 

“Of course, Sire.” 

“Why don’t you go get more, preferably dry, wood?” The King asks, a smirk hidden in his tone as he took the stick from Lancelot’s hands and repeated the knight’s actions, poking the log and encouraging the fire to grow with more air blown from his lips. 

Lancelot watches as the little flame grows, eating away at the kindling and spreading faster by the second. A moment of silence stretches between, a comfortable silence, as the crackling of the fire emits and the distant cackles of Gwaine and Merlin playing in the background. Lancelot shifts, almost nervously as he rubs his hands together and nibbles his bottom lip. 

“I wanted… to apologize,” the knight says as he lets out a deep breath as if he had been holding it in all day. Arthur looks to him questionably and Lancelot continues, “about today, I mean. Losing Merlin and causing an upheaval in the first place. You knew what you were talking about when it came to the stag and I should’ve never questioned you on it.”

Arthur stares at him before he sits back on his own rear, folding his legs up to curl his arms around them lazily as he looks back at the fire, a bit bashful as he admits, “you don’t have to apologize. Turns out we were all wrong. The stag was way off course. Had Merlin never wandered off and stumbled upon the beast I doubt we ever would’ve found him.”

“Still, I should’ve followed your lead.”

Arthur shakes his head, “you’re not a puppet Lancelot,” he tells the knight seriously, looking back at him intently, “I’ve had men and women alike all my life who’ve blindly followed my father and, even at a young age, me. What’s the point of a council if they dare not advise or ask questions? If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years it’s that it takes more than one person to be a good king. You shouldn’t ever apologize for speaking up and I’m… sorry for making you feel like you had too.” 

Lancelot opens and closes his mouth, struggling to find a proper response before Arthur claps him on the shoulder, “Merlin getting lost was on all of us. I shouldn’t have been so short with you.” 

Lancelot opts to smile at that, “you were a bit snippy,” he teases gently and Arthur rolls his eyes, sliding his hand off his knight’s shoulder to lock around his knees once more. 

“Yeah, well…” Arthur’s eyes cast over to Merlin who’s lying on his belly beside Gwaine, instructing the older man how to properly draw a dragon. “Guinevere would’ve had my head if I returned without him.” 

“Guinevere?” Lancelot questions, knowing eyes analyzing the King with a sharp glint and Arthur squirms a bit, making a face as he goes back to poking at the fire. “You were a bit snippy even before we lost Merlin…. I thought maybe I had done something-”

“No. No. It’s not-.. It was never you. Per se. Just forget it. Didn’t I ask for more kindling?” 

“Tell me,” Lancelot prods him like Arthur prods the fire. Gentle yet insistent and the King blinks at him, trying to remain firm as he nods to the forest behind them, “kindling.” 

“Do you miss him?” 

It’s a question Arthur wasn’t expecting and for a moment he has to think who Lancelot is referring to, “what?”

“Do you miss Merlin?” 

Arthur gives him a befuddled look, “course not. He’s here now-”

“No, normal Merlin. Your Merlin.” 

The words silence Arthur once more as he turns the question over in his head. He supposes he was feeling different since Merlin had miraculously (and idiotically) turned himself little but he had simply chalked it up to frustration that the careless warlock had gone and messed up so horribly. He hadn’t actually thought that maybe he had been missing his bumbling manservant. The one he could vent to when the pressures of running a kingdom became too much or he had somehow upset Guinevere or his father’s old knight’s had made some snide remark about the ‘new way.’ The Merlin he could have a bit of horseplay with (and not make him cry) and fondly call names or share some inside jokes with. Merlin as a child was, Arthur will finally admit, utterly adorable. Round, freckled cheeks, bright blue eyes, and infectious giggle whenever someone tickled him which wasn’t hard to do. The boy was endearingly even more sensitive than as a man, something Arthur really didn’t think possible. And while Arthur could even admit that he had grown rather fond of Merlin as a child he realized he had been missing his best friend more and more each day. 

The King relents with a slight head nod, sighing, “I.. do. It’s just not the same,” Arthur snorts, “obviously.”

“I know what you mean.” 

“Do you? You seem perfectly fine with the whole thing.” 

Lancelot furrows his brow, “I trust that Gaius will find a way to make things right again. But that’ll take some time, we knew that from the start. I wasn’t going to make things worse by being cold or distant to Merlin. He is a little boy now after all.” 

Arthur suddenly feels guilty at that, knowing that even though Lancelot didn’t accuse him directly the intention was still there. His cheeks burn just a little and he hopes the knight will just blame it on the heat from the fire. 

“Guess that’s why he likes you more,” the King grumbles. 

Lancelot coughs up a laugh, shaking his head and Arthur looks at him peevishly. 

“Please,” Lancelot scoffs, “don’t tell me you’re jealous.” 

“I’m not.” 

“Is that why you were so snippy?” 

“I wasn’t-... it’s not because of that.” 

Lancelot guffaws, “Merlin was right about you.” 

Arthur glares, “what are you talking about?” 

Lancelot simply shakes his head, looking far too smug as he slaps the King’s shoulder and stands up, “he’s always adored you. Even as a boy. Trust me, there’s no need to feel jealous.” 

Lancelot begins to walk away, towards the forest to hopefully gather the kindling Arthur had originally asked for and the King hollars at him as he goes, “it’s not jealousy!” 

But Lancelot hardly acknowledges it, throwing a wave over his shoulder and tossing back, “of course, Sire.”

It’s almost as condescending as the way Merlin would say it and Arthur mutters a curse as he turns his back on Lancelot, looking once more into the fire with a pout that could rival the little boy’s. He has half a mind to punish Lancelot with late night patrol duty when they get back to Camelot. 

It’s not long before Elyan and Percival return, like they had said they would if they couldn’t find Merlin and their worried and ashamed faces turn bright when the boy bounces up to them, eager to share the story of his adventure with them like he had done the others. It’s an overly dramatic reunion, Arthur will say it. But it is comical when Percival playfully takes out his sword and demands Merlin shows him the bee that had tricked him. 

By the time the sun had fully set, the horses were properly taken care of and everyone had settled down for the night Merlin had told the story five different times about his new friend, the stag. Percival was more than just relieved to know he hadn’t caused the deer to go to waste and that the beast had at least had a fighting chance wherever he was out there among the trees. 

“Big,” Merlin tells Percival and Elyan seriously, standing in front of them as they sit before the fire, his little arms stretched high above his head to the point he’s on his tiptoes, “as big as Boaz.” 

Percival’s eyes widen, “as big as my horse? That’s a bit hard to believe, Merlin.” He tells the little boy, hoping to convey the same amount of enthusiasm. 

Merlin nods, “I know. But ask Arthur! And Lancelot!” 

Arthur raises a brow at Lancelot from across the fire, “as big as Boaz.”

The statement lacks any real sense of integrity. The stag was certainly of legendary size, Arthur has no qualms admitting that, but he wasn’t quite as tall or thick as Percival’s mount who was crossed with a workhorse somewhere along the way. Big horse fit for a big knight. 

“Alright, as much as I enjoy this story, for the sixth time,” Elyan wiggles his eyebrows at Merlin, “I’m ready for bed after a day like today.” 

There’s a collective round of murmurs, agreeing with Elyan as everyone settles into their bedrolls. Merlin pouts, cause of course he’s not tired. He had quite the adventure today and he kept thinking about the stag and the wolf and the bee and he even briefly wondered about the Lady Mantis. He was still quite full of energy as he grabbed his bedroll and began to haul it over to the other side of the fire. 

Lancelot tilts his head up, watching as Merlin drags it around Leon and the knight expects the little boy to bring it next to him again. He’s a little surprised to see the boy drop it next to Arthur’s instead with a gentle thud. 

The King lifts his head, his eyebrow quirked as he watches Merlin place his bedroll beside his, as close as it can get, and quickly huddle under the blanket, “Merlin.” 

Merlin tilts his chin up and his blue eyes peek out from under the thick material, “what?” 

“What are you doing?” Arthur asks lowly, eyes catching with Lancelot’s who gives him a bit of a smirk and turns over. Merlin just blinks up at him. 

“I thought we were going to sleep?” he whispers back.

“...Right.” 

Merlin nestles closer, his eyes fluttering shut as he thinks he could at least try and sleep when he felt safe tucked into Arthur’s side and the fire not far on his other side, it’s warmth shielding away the chilled air of the night. 

Arthur watches him for a moment as his dark lashes dance across his cheek in the firelight. A bit of warmth pools in his chest at the thought that Merlin chose him to snuggle up to for the night. The King lays back, closing his eyes as he listens to Merlin breathing begin to even out, taking long and slow breaths. Arthur finds himself beginning to drift off, the sounds of the fire and the forest lulling him to sleep. It’s the most at peace he’s felt all day and his body just melts into his bedroll.   
And if Merlin, right as Arthur is slipping into a deep slumber, lifts the King’s arm to wrap it around his little body Arthur doesn’t fight it. 

For a moment, he doesn’t miss his best friend so much.


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur swears Merlin has some quota for the day; how many times can he embarrass the King before the sun goes down?

It started bright and early the next morning when Arthur awoke to his breathing being hindered by a tuft of black hair clogging his nostrils. Somehow, during the night, Merlin had gotten his little body spread out across the upper half of Arthur’s chest, lying there at a weird angle as he slept like a baby (no pun intended). 

The new sleeping arrangement had caused Arthur’s neck to crane oddly and the King woke with a soreness that he couldn’t blame on the hard ground. He groaned, blowing at Merlin’s hair before lifting the sleeping boy as gently as he could and lowering him back down to his own bedding, pulling the blanket up over Merlin’s shoulders and tucking it just under his chin. 

It was then Arthur had noticed Leon and Lancelot sitting around the small fire, watching him with matching expressions that Arthur couldn’t quite make out. He narrows his eyes.

“What?”

“Have a nice cuddle?” Lancelot teases and Leon quickly looks down at the cup in his hands, shielding away a smirk. Arthur ignored them both. 

And then, once Merlin and the rest of the knights had gotten up, Merlin had taken it upon himself to make the morning tea. 

“I used to do it, I know how” he grumbles at Gwaine when the man attempts to help him but Merlin apparently hadn’t slept very well (Arthur can’t imagine why) and keeps whining when Gwaine does too much, “I got it!” 

While Merlin does that Arthur and the rest busy themselves with packing up to head back to Camelot, only throwing Merlin an occasional watchful eye when he hears the little boy groan or hiss at spilling some of the water from the ladle. Percival is sitting nearby, making sure the boy isn’t getting too close to the fire. 

And maybe that’s why Arthur is so surprised to find dirt in his tea.

He of course gets his cup first, being the King and all, and Arthur praises Merlin for not forgetting such a thing. But his praises are quickly replaced with exasperation when Arthur spits his tea out after his first sip, remains of littles rocks and dirt dribbling down his chin as he splutters, “what the hell is in this?”

Merlin jumps a bit, blinking up at Arthur with wide, blue eyes and innocently asks, “what do you mean?”

“What did you put in this Merlin? It’s- it’s gritty and.. and-” Arthur cringes and spits more of the tea out.

Merlin’s lips pointedly turn down as he wrings his hands together nervously, “I thought… you said you like it earthy.”

Arthur can feel the specks of earth clinging between his teeth and swirling around his tongue. He looks at Merlin incredulously before spitting again. Merlin scrunches up his nose in disgust. 

There’s a snort followed by a suppressed guffaw and Arthur darts his eyes around to see Elyan and Gwaine looking away with shaking shoulders, obviously finding joy at his expense. Arthur glares at them and is about to dump his ‘tea’ out when Merlin speaks up in a little voice, “did I do bad? I’m sorry, Arthur.” 

And really it’s such a simple statement, it shouldn’t make Arthur freeze like it does. And the King makes the mistake of locking eyes with the little boy who’s looking up at him almost like he’s ready to cry at his failed attempt at making the beverage and Arthur quickly changes his tune. 

“No…” he says slowly, wrapping both hands around the cup, “you didn’t.. Do bad. It’s just… different. I’ll get used to it, thank you.” 

Merlin beams at him, such a change in emotion it almost spooks Arthur, and hurries back off to make more tea for the rest of the men. Arthur was hoping Gwaine and Elyan would get some ‘earthy’ tea as well but was horribly disappointed when Percival stepped in to help, not taking no for an answer, thus blessing everyone else with perfectly made tea. 

So far it hadn’t been Arthur’s morning. 

And now, a little while later when they had taken a break to water and rest the horses on their journey home, Arthur is forced to stand back and watch as his once fearsome and formidable mount is reduced to a mere child’s pony. 

Arthur’s stallion was young, bold, and brave beyond comparison. Arthur hadn’t had him for long but the bronze stud had proven himself almost every time the King saddled him up. The horse was meant for the charge, head held high and neck curled as he led men and beast alike towards the enemy, whether Arthur had asked him or not. This same horse whose hooves had crushed a man’s skull and stained his white socks in blood. Arthur can still remember the maroon colored hand print that had smeared across his sleek coat as the stallion had trampled whatever, and whoever, stood in his way. When asked, the horse could transform into a monstrous thing; biting, kicking, stomping. He had earned himself the nickname ‘The Bull’ and it didn’t take long to figure out why when you watched him move. 

And now the horse stood nearly asleep, his neck stretched out and head hung low enough for the boy on the rock to reach his mane. His back hoof was cocked and his tail swished lazily with the soft spring air as Merlin attempted to braid flowers into his hair. The boy had picked them out of boredom before they had left that morning and the same boredom had led Merlin to fiddle with the little bit of mane he could reach from where he sat in front of Arthur in the saddle. The King had noticed, of course, but hadn’t said anything. It was one little flower after all and if braiding it into the horse’s hair had kept Merlin busy and quiet then so be it.

Except one flower turned into two then three and by the time they had stopped to rest Merlin had been standing on his tiptoes upon a rock as he added his seventh flower. The braiding was not that of a professional, the flowers looked more like they were knotted in and Arthur grimaced at the work the grooms would have to do to get the knots out. But the real problem was the fact that the King’s most prized war horse had a braided mane adorned with little white daisies. And the worst part was that the so-called ‘Bull’ didn’t seem to mind it all. In fact, the young stallion seemed to be enjoying the attention if his body language was anything to go by. The horse wasn’t even tied, his reins dangled from his bit, coiled on the ground by his feet as his eyes remained half open and his muscles relaxed under his sleek coat. 

The Bull had traded in his war horse career for a festival pony. 

“Cute.” 

Arthur turns just enough to see Gwaine standing beside him, watching the horse get a makeover with a little smirk Arthur instantly wants to wipe off. The King grunts in response.

“I quite like it. The white of the flower really compliments your colt’s white blaze.”

“If Merlin thinks I’m riding through Camelot with flowers in my horse’s mane then he hasn’t only gotten younger but dumber.” 

Gwaine scoffs with a grin, “of course, Sire.” 

The knight slaps Arthur’s shoulder as he walks away and something about his tone tells the King Gwaine doesn’t believe him and Arthur’s left feeling the burn of embarrassment for the third time that day and it wasn’t even noon yet. Finally, Arthur’s had enough. He looks down at the now cold cup of tea he was still holding, not having the heart to toss it since Merlin had been under his feet all morning and not being able to bring himself to finish it off. He cusses at it and quickly tosses the remains to the side with a splat before stomping his way to Merlin and his horse. 

His sudden appearance startles his mount just enough for the horse to fling his head up, causing his mane to slip through Merlin’s fingers and the last daisy to flutter to the ground. Arthur ignores it as he tucks the now empty tea cup into his saddle bag. 

“Enough’s enough, Merlin. Take those ridiculous flowers out and smooth that horse’s mane. You’ve made a mess.” 

Merlin is busy gathering up his flower by the horse’s hoof, holding it protectively in his palms as he wobbles his way back up on the rock, “but it’s pretty-”

“Yes, that’s the problem. This is a war stallion, not a maid’s mount. Take them out.”

Merlin turns to him quizzically, “but… he likes them.” 

“He’s a horse not a doll.”

“Try it.”

“Excuse me?” 

Merlin hands him the little daisy that’s pinched gently between his fingers, his smile soft and encouraging as he holds it up, “try it, Tom likes it.” 

“Tom?”

Merlin nods to the horse. 

“No. That’s not his name.” 

Merlin shrugs, “you said earlier he didn’t have one. And being called ‘The Bull’ isn’t a name. He’s a Tom.” 

Arthur was certainly not riding a horse named Tom into battle thank you very much.

“No,” Arthur says matter of factly and picks Merlin up under the arms before turning to place the boy on the ground away from Tom.

Not Tom. The Bull. 

“You can’t just name my horse whatever you want. Nor can you doll him up like a bouquet. I want the flowers out and his mane fixed before we get home. It looks absurd.”

Merlin knots his hands together behind his back, rocking on his heels as he looks pensive at the ground. “Okay.... but try it.” 

And suddenly the little warlock is holding the flower back out and he’s reaching up on his tiptoes once more to get it as close to Arthur’s face as he can. Arthur looks at it almost offensively as Merlin twirls it between his fingers. The King glares at the flower, darting his eyes to where the knights are gathered a little ways away, engaged in mindless chatter but unfocused on them and Arthur decides to give in, so long as it keeps Merlin content. It would be just like the boy to cause a scene. 

The King swipes the little flower from the boy’s fingers, huffing out a “fine” before turning to his horse. Merlin scurries back up on his rock beside the King, looking far too giddy for such a stupid task, “but then you’re taking them all out. Understood?” 

Merlin nods, biting his lip to contain his smile from getting too big as Arthur threads his fingers through the horse’s light brown mane. The horse, for his part, seems to have gone back to his peaceful stupor, enjoying the feeling of the human's physical affection. 

Arthur begins a simple braid when his eyes wander to the past ones Merlin had done. He eyes them critically, shaking his head before tsking and stopping his own braid halfway through before picking up one of Merlin’s. 

“What even is this?” he asks the little boy teasingly, “did you braid or just tie two pieces together?”

Merlin blinks up at him, “uhm…”

“It’s all wrong. Here,” Arthur plucks the little flower from the mess and hands it back to Merlin along with the other one before he begins to take the strands of mane apart, “watch me.”

“So you really do know how to braid?” Merlin asks him quietly, almost as though it were a secret. Arthur gives him a grin.

“Of course. Braiding helps keep a horse’s mane and tail from getting caught up in armour or trees when you’re riding through thick brush, especially if you’re trying not to leave a trail for someone to follow. Braids aren’t just for looks, they can be practical too. Every good horseman should know a simple braid.” 

Merlin nods, watching closely as Arthur manages to get the knotted mane somewhat smoothed out. Arthur flicks his eyes to the boy before looking back at the mane and breaking it into three pieces among his fingers, “three. Not two. Watch.” 

Arthur slowly takes the piece all the way to the right and crosses it over the middle, “and then the left side.” 

Merlin nods along, leaning closer over Arthur’s forearm as he studies the King’s movements, “how do you know what piece to do next?”

“You just go right, left, right, left. Eventually you do it enough and you won’t even have to think about it. Your next move will just come naturally.” 

Merlin smiles up at him before handing him one of the flowers. Arthur looks at it with a sigh before rolling his eyes and plucking it back, placing the stem along one of the strands and braiding it in with ease. At the end of the braid he takes one strand of the horse’s slick mane and loops it around the others multiple times before tucking the end into itself and pulling tight, creating a makeshift tie. 

“Will that stay?” Merlin asks hopeful and Arthur shrugs, “hopefully not.” 

“I wanna try.” 

Arthur gets to work undoing the next ‘braid’ and once the hair is smoothed down enough he instructs Merlin’s small fingers in breaking the hair up into the three pieces. 

“Good. Now take the right strand over the middle… no not both, here.” 

Arthur steps up, his arms coming from around Merlin and taking the boy’s small hands in his large ones before manipulating the boy’s fingers into the correct motions, “like this. Right, left… right-”

“Left!” Merlin supplies and Arthur smiles, “very good. You’re getting it.”

Slowly the King takes his hands away, hovering just in case but Merlin’s a fast little learner and eventually he’s twisting the strands like a pro. He pauses to fiddle with the little daisy he still had clutched in his hand and aligns it with a strand just like Arthur had. Arthur hovers his own fingers lightly over Merlin’s when the boy struggles just a bit, adjusting the stem of the flower as Merlin continues twisting the hair back into one braid. When he’s at the end he looks back at Arthur, “how did you tie it?” 

“Like this,” Arthur gently takes the braid and slowly shows him what he had done. Three loops and he allows Merlin to pull the end of the strand through so the boy could feel like the finished product was his. 

Merlin leans back, hands on his hips as he admires his work. The two braids are much more presentable now and the boy grins back at Arthur, “thank you.”

“Mmhm,” Arthur hums, squeezing the back of Merlin’s neck, “now take it all out.” 

Merlin pouts, “can’t we leave our braids in? They look good. And it’s just two so no one will even see it.” 

Arthur goes to argue but loses his momentum with Merlin’s pleading eyes on him. He scoffs, waving the mane off lazily, “I guess, Merlin. But the others do have to come out. Flowers included. Even two is too many.” 

Merlin doesn’t complain, just gets to work undoing the other messy ones, mumbling to Tom about how two braided flowers were better than none. Arthur leaves him to it, repeating the horse’s new name with distaste. 

“Who names a horse Tom?” 

When they’re mounting up to head back out on the trail, Gwaine sits on his horse in front of Arthur’s, eyes darting from the two braids and back to the King. Arthur has Merlin seated in front of him so he bites back any inappropriate retorts. Instead, Arthur rides Tom just close enough to bump Gwaine’s gelding out of the way, satisfied when Gwaine has to quickly steady himself in his saddle. 

They ride the rest of the way home without any further stops and they pass the time by playing some sort of guessing game Merlin conjures up. When they pass through the lower village of Camelot Arthur’s acutely aware of the two little flowers in Tom’s mane, his eyes scanning the crowd of villagers who respectfully part among the street to allow passage for their king, trying to see if anyone notices or pokes fun. But just like when they had left, the villagers have their eyes on Merlin, brows raised or pinched as they take the little boy in. Arthur vaguely wonders what they’re thinking, if they even know. He knows gossip in the castle spreads fast and that Guinevere fills her ladies in on the new happenings and that they very likely fill their family and friends in. Not to mention Merlin is a regular visitor among the villagers, accompanying Gaius and, as of late, often the one administering medicines and tonics as he begins the transformation of becoming a real physician alongside his mentor. He had built a rather amicable rapport with the civilians, establishing relationships that had gone beyond that of a patient and physician and Arthur knows many were quite taken to the magic side Merlin had to offer once Arthur had lifted the ban. 

So no doubt, they had probably heard the rumors. And seeing the truth with their own eyes was quite the spectacle. Somehow, the idea of the commoners gawking and whispering about Merlin felt wrong somewhere inside and almost subconsciously the King wraps an arm tighter around Merlin’s middle, attempting to shield him away from the crowd as he squeezes his horse’s reins to slow Tom down enough so he was sandwiched between Leon and Elyan’s horses, providing more privacy and less spectating. Arthur never minded his most loyal knights teasing his boyservant and of course Arthur himself had given Merlin a hard time about what he had done but something about everyone else having a go at the boy just sat wrong with him. 

Merlin hadn’t seemed to really notice the gawking for what it was. Instead, before Arthur had attempted to shield him away, Merlin had been smiling and waving at people he recognized. Lochlan, the old man who always gave him berries in exchange for herbs, Ceri and her infant son who Merlin had assisted Gaius in birthing when the child had breached, and the little girl Rhian who always tugged at Merlin’s pant leg until he showed her a magic trick. 

Though… now she was taller than him and Merlin may have begrudgingly looked away when she waved when he thought of how small he was in comparison. 

Merlin squirmed when Arthur held him close, uncomfortable at the sudden squeezing but Arthur ignored him and the little boy huffed in annoyance as they rode up the stone walkway and in the courtyard where knights and squires and grooms were waiting patiently for their return. The squire boys readied themselves for their respective knights and the grooms are quick to grab the reins of the horses as they halt before the steps. Arthur drops his stirrups and gestures for a groom to come close before grabbing Merlin under the arms and handing him over to the groom who hesitates only slightly before taking the little boy into his arms and settling him safely on the ground. Arthur dismounts smoothly now that he has room and gives the reins of Tom over to the awaiting man, jabbing a thumb at the flowers in the horse’s mane once he’s on his feet.

“Make sure to get those out before he’s put to pasture.”

The groom blinks at the braids, raising his eyebrows, “are those… flowers, Sire?”

Arthur gently guides Merlin towards the stairs by the shoulders, “just get them out.” 

Merlin’s about to protest the removal of his flowers when something catches his eye. He looks up the stairs and there’s Gwen rushing down, part of her dress held in one hand while the rest billows behind her and a grand smile across her cheeks as she comes towards them. 

Arthur’s half expecting for his wife to collide with him, throw her arms around his neck like she does when he’s been gone for more than a day but as she gets closer, Arthur realizes Guinevere isn’t even looking at him. Instead, her smile is for the little warlock in front of him who’s grinning back at Gwen just as excited as she is and the Queen squats just enough to gobble him up in an overly dramatic embrace as she goes on and on about how much she missed him. 

Really, it had only been a couple days. Not months. Excuse Arthur for finding the whole thing just a tad bit over the top. 

“I missed you too!” Merlin breathes out in a way that tells Arthur his wife may be squeezing him a bit too much.

“Guinevere, you’re squishing the poor boy,” he says dryly, watching them with hands on his hips. Gwen pulls back with feign bashfulness as she holds Merlin by the shoulders, earning his giggles when she makes a face, “just can’t help myself. It’s been so gloomy around here without you. Did you have fun, Merlin?” 

Merlin instantly lights up, his giddiness palpable as he nods fervently, “you shoulda come! I saw a mantis, like you! And a-a bee tricked me and I met the most biggest stag ever, and I saw a wolf-”

Arthur quickly reaches around to slap his hand over the boy’s mouth, forcing a smile when Gwen looks up at him with concern, “heard a wolf. We heard wolves. At night.”

Gwen narrows her eyes at him and nods slowly, “convincing,” she says with just the hint of teasing as she elegantly stands up and takes Merlin’s little hand in hers, “come Merlin, tell me more of your adventures. I want to hear everything.” 

She’s staring at Arthur when she says it and the King slumps, knowing it’s a lost cause. Merlin is totally oblivious to the exchange, too enthralled with the idea that he gets to tell his tall tales once more. He waves back at the knights as he follows the Queen, hopping up the stairs joyfully as he goes. 

Lancelot comes up beside Arthur, cupping a hand over his shoulder as he says, “blame it on me.” 

Arthur scoffs gently, “don’t tempt me.” 

He doesn’t, for what it’s worth. Later that evening, when Merlin had been entrusted in the care of one of Guinevere’s maids, Arthur takes the blame of losing Merlin on the hunting trip and thus sits to hear the lecture his wife had cooked up for him. He nods when appropriate, conveys he’s truly listening by keeping his chin up and eyes forward and apologizes as sincerely as he can. 

“I promise, it won’t happen again,” he tells her seriously though he thinks he won’t have to try too hard as there won’t be a next time cause Merlin will be an adult soon once Gaius returns. 

Hopefully. 

“I better hope so, Arthur,” Gwen tells him, her hands on her hips as she paces slowly in front of him, “you must always keep an eye on a small child, especially in a place such as the woods. How do you suspect to take your own child hunting if you can’t watch Merlin properly?” 

Arthur’s about to apologize again when he realizes what Guinevere had said exactly. They had yet to actually discuss having children and Arthur is a little taken aback when the topic is brought up so suddenly and casually. 

“My own children?” 

Gwen stops pacing and looks at him like he has three heads, “well yes. Of course,” she suddenly melts into uncertainty as she gauges his response, “well I mean… I had hoped.” 

Arthur opens his mouth once more, ready to reassure his wife when suddenly there’s a tentative knock at the door. The couple share a quick look before Guinevere hurries over and opens it to see Miriam, her maid, on the other side, Merlin by her side. The little boy doesn’t look up and quickly hurries in, past Gwen without so much a word as he keeps his head down and the Queen looks to her maid questionably, “what happened?”

Miriam plasters on a rather fake smile as she raises her brows and nods towards the little boy who scurries past Arthur and quickly tucks himself behind the changing screen, the King watching him, confused, “he was ready to settle in for the evening My Lady.” 

Guinevere nods, unsure until Miriam leans closer and whispers, “check his shirt.”

“Thank you,” the Queen replies though she still feels very much at a loss but relieves her maid and turns to her husband who’s already up from his seat and peeking behind the wooden screen.

“Merlin?” he calls out softly but the boy has his back to him, “why are you hiding? What have you done?”

“Nuttin,” comes the piteous response and Arthur can tell even from behind the boy is cradling his tummy as though it may hurt.

Arthur isn’t one for games, not tonight, and wastes no time as he reaches forward to grip the boy’s shoulder and turn him around so Merlin’s facing him. Arthur can see something lumpy and cradled under the little warlock’s shirt, moving around unpleasantly and the sight makes Arthur coil back, “what is that?” he exclaims as his wife comes up beside him. 

Merlin’s eyes fill with tears as he attempts to hide whatever it is under his shirt away from the King and Queen, “please don’t hurt it!” 

“Merlin,” Gwen interjects, concerned, “what do you have under there? This isn’t part of your magic is it?” 

Merlin’s whole face is downtrodden as he slowly shakes his head no and after a few seconds the boy lifts his tunic and carefully takes out what he had been hiding underneath it. And what he pulled out really wasn’t anything Arthur could’ve guessed. 

It’s a small, calico colored kitten, probably no more than six weeks, that meows when it’s suddenly taken from whatever warmth and comfort it had gotten from under the boy’s shirt. The sight of a harmless, normal looking kitten actually has Arthur breathing a sigh of relief.

Honestly, knowing Merlin and all his magical-ness, Arthur was expecting a dragon or a goblin or something equally terrifying and completely out of his league in terms of knowing how to deal with such beasts. But a kitten? Well that was perfectly normal and Arthur knew exactly how to handle that. 

Arthur scoffs, “a kitten? You were hiding a kitten?” he turns to his wife with a look of ease, “a kitten. Easy. We’ll bring it to the stables. Toss it with the lot of them that are already there. Gotta say Merlin, you had me nervous there for a second.” 

“We can’t just toss her to the rest!” Merlin quickly exclaims, holding the little fluff ball close to his face as he turns her away from the King, “she’s just little and won’t survive the night! That’s why she was in the kitchens!” 

“The kitchens? You found her in the kitchens? What were you doing there?”

“Miriam b-brought me for a snack and-and the kitty was there because the cook lady was taking care of her and she can’t go back outside cause she’s- she’s been hurt, look!” Merlin holds the little kitty back up in Arthur’s direction and the King leans forward and squints his eyes to study the kitten. He doesn’t see anything wrong with the little critter right off but after a moment he notices something off about her little pink nose. It seems a bit swollen and stained red. 

“What… happened?” he asks the little boy cautiously. 

Merlin sniffles, “she- she fell from the hay racks. That’s what the cook lady said. And she gots a bloody nose from it and the mumma kitty wasn’t letting her close after that.”

Gwen makes a noise from beside Arthur, a sympathetic aww as she puts a hand to her chest and Arthur can already see where this is going. 

“No,” he says, straight-faced as he nearly glares at the little kitten in front of him, “bring it back to the cook then Merlin. You can’t keep it.”

“But the cook lady gave her to me! I’m her mumma now, watch” Merlin darts out from behind the screen and between Arthur and Gwen before stopping somewhere in the middle of the large room and gently settling the kitten upon the floor. The kitten momentarily seems confused, sniffing around the floor and air before Merlin takes a few steps back and squats before kissing to the kitty who quickly looks around for him before toddling off in his direction, bouncing on her little paws clumsily and falling into his hands as Merlin picks her back up and holds her proudly, “see. She likes me!” and the smile he shoots up to the adults is utterly endearing. 

Except Arthur isn’t about to break. No, not this time. A kitten is where he draws the line.

If you had asked him a week ago where he drew the line it would’ve been a couple daisies, a hunting trip, and a few cuddles back ago but that’s besides the point. Arthur Pendragon isn’t a cat person. 

Not now, not ever. 

And this is just one thing little Merlin will have to accept. Freckled cheeks and shining blue eyes be damned. 

“Give her here,” Arthur says seriously, holding his hand out, “I’ll bring her back.”

Merlin’s smile drops and he looks positively mortified at the King, “what?”

“You heard me, Merlin. You’re not keeping a kitten. Especially not here, in my chambers. In a few days Gaius will be back and you’ll be an adult again and then you can have all the cats you want. But right now you’re a child and in my care and I say no.” 

“But I don’t want a bunch of cats!” Merlin whines, his voice high yet rough with unshed tears once more and Arthur knows the little boy is on the verge of a meltdown, “I want Tilly.”

“Tilly?” Arthur repeats incredulously and looks back at Gwen for help. 

But help is certainly not what he was gonna get and he can tell the moment Guinevere looks at him pleadingly, “she’s so little Arthur, will she really be that much of a problem?”

“Are you joking? It’s a stray. It’s dirty and belongs in a barn. Not my room.”

“But she’ll die in the barn! She’s got no mumma and no one to care for her. She needs us!” Merlin argues, tucking the kitten to his chest as the little calico snuggles into the embrace, purring rather loudly for such a tiny thing. 

“Merlin, I’m not arguing about this-”

“You do it for me, why not her?”

Arthur’s… not sure how to respond to that one. At first, it seems obvious. Because Merlin is human, his best friend, and whether Arthur says it or not he loves Merlin and okay, he’ll admit, loves him even when he magically screws up and turns himself into a child. But he doesn’t say this, not out loud, because something tells Arthur Merlin actually knows this already and the boy is just using it to play at the King’s heart strings in order to relent and let the kitten stay. 

Smart boy. 

Instead, Arthur stares Merlin down, hard, eyes going from the kitten to Merlin’s baby blues before landing back on the kitten, almost wishing he could just glare the cat away. Arthur lets Merlin worry for a moment as he says nothing, watching the boy squirm with anticipation before Arthur crosses his arms and breathes out, “fine.” 

Merlin gasps, a smile enveloping his face as he looks up at Arthur as if the man had just hung the moon and stars himself. 

“But-” Merlin goes stiff once more, holding bated breath as he waits for Arthur to finish, “it’s just for tonight. Tomorrow, you will find someone else to take her. I don’t care who or where or what you-”

Arthur’s abruptly cut off by Merlin’s small body barreling into his shins and wrapping his legs in a hug, the little warlock thanking him as if he’d just promised him the world not ONE night with a lousy kitten. 

Said kitten lets out a soft meow, a pitch that almost matches Merlin’s, and the boy looks up at Arthur from where he’s hugging his legs to say, “she says thank you too!” 

“I’m sure,” Arthur says sarcastically, patting the boy’s back before pulling him back by the shoulders, “but I mean it, Merlin. It’s just for tonight.” 

“Uh-huh!” Merlin says, turning his attention to the little kitten as he holds her up and begins sharing his excitement with the cat, telling her how thankful she should be and how nice Arthur was as he takes her over to the chairs around the fireplace. Arthur gets this sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach he hasn’t come to a compromise but instead more of a stalemate of sorts.

He imagines that tomorrow, they’ll be having the same battle all over again. 

Guinevere loops her arm through his, smiling up at him almost smugly and Arthur rolls his eyes, turning away, “oh don’t be like that,” Guinever says gently, a giggle amongst her words, “you’re just too good a man, Arthur.”

Arthur scoffs, “beginning to wonder if that’s a compliment or not.” 

Gwen smiles softly at him, grasping his hand and giving it a squeeze before saying sincerely, 

“It is. A good, soft man.” 

And if Arthur’s keeping count, that’s roughly fives times he’s gone red from embarrassment in one day alone. 

All thanks to Merlin. Arthur hopes he’s satisfied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't take credit for the kitten idea, it was suggested to me by maya_std and as an avid animal lover I was all for it so thank you Maya!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I fractured my thumb (nothing serious just got assaulted by a fence post) so if there's any crazy misspelled words let me know and I'll go back and fix them. My little thumb cast type thingy makes typing kind of hard but luckily I had this chapter mostly done so there wasn't much more I had to do.

“See this?” 

Arthur lifts his foot, pointing at it rather seriously and Merlin steps back to get a better look. 

“Yes?”

“Yeah, it’s going down,” and to emphasize his point Arthur stomps his boot to the floor, crossing his arms and glaring down at the small child with what he hopes is a look that is at least somewhat intimidating. However, Arthur rarely ever intimidates Merlin, no matter how small the little warlock may be, and instead Merlin quickly sucks in his lips, trying his hardest not to disrespect his King by giggling or grinning.

But Arthur sees it and points a finger at the boy warningly, “Merlin, I’m being serious.” 

“I know,” Merlin says back, nodding with wide eyes as he holds the kitten closer. Like promised, Tilly was allowed to stay the night and by morning Arthur might have forgotten about the kitten altogether if he hadn’t awoken to a small weight upon his chest. 

When he first began to open his eyes he kind of expected to find Merlin peering back at him not the tiny green eyes of the kitten. She was settled comfortably right before his collar bone, her little paws tucked into her fluff and beady little eyes pinned to his, almost like she had been waiting for him to wake up. When he stirs, she’s quick to dart her little paws out, gently whacking at his lips as they twitch as though she thought his lips were even hers to play with.

“Ugh!” Arthur groans, reaching out from his quilt to grab the kitten by her scruff and hold her up, “you’re still here?” 

The kitten allows herself to dangle from the King’s grip, her eyes darting all around the room as if she thought everything from this angle looked different. Arthur sighs, gently tossing the furball to the side of him where his wife had been the night before. 

“Guinevere?” he calls out before sitting up in bed, his eyes roaming to where Merlin’s cot was, empty, “Merlin?” 

Neither appear to be in the room and Arthur is quickly grumpy at the fact that they’d leave him alone with Merlin’s cat while they went off galavanting. As he gets up to dress and wait for their return he’s forced to acknowledge the kitten who’s seemed to make it her sole job to irritate him as much as she possibly could. She’s a rambunctious little thing, attacking his bare toes and catching her claws in his stocking as he attempts to pull it on. Her sharp claw is so embedded in the material she can’t figure out how to release it and lets out a long, pitiful cry for help, her doe like eyes shooting to Arthur as if asking him to rescue her. 

Everything about her reminds him too much of Merlin and as he reaches down to cup the kitten in his hand while the other works her tiny claw free he tells himself the two can not spend anymore time together. The kitten’s gotta go. 

When Merlin and Guinevere return it’s with breakfast and of course Merlin brought breakfast up for the damn cat too, courtesy of the kitchen ladies who apparently just gushed over Merlin and gave him whatever he wanted, according to Guinevere. The kitten may be small and young but she’s smart enough to recognize Merlin the second she hears his voice in the room and she quickly abandons annoying Arthur to gallop across the chamber floor and attempt to climb up Merlin’s trousers, meowing pathetically the whole way. 

“Tilly!” Merlin greets, a bowl of warm milk held high above his head as he giggles down at her and Gwen is quick to reach out and take it from his hands before he spilt it all over Arthur’s floor. 

The kitten meows again, her purr already in full blast as Merlin bends down to scoop her up and that’s when Arthur found it the right time to discuss about him putting his foot down and kicking the kitten out where she belonged. 

“The stable boys will take good care of her,” Arthur says, his tone softening as he watches the kitten snuggle under Merlin’s chin, “she’ll be happy with the other cats.”

“But… what if she falls again? And how is she supposed to get food without a mumma to help her?”

“It’s a cat, not a baby. They’re resilient.” 

Merlin pouts, eyebrows knitted together as he scowls at Arthur, “she’s a kitten. And her name is Tilly.”

“She’s going back to the stables,” Arthur says in a tone that tells Merlin he means it as he leans forward to tap the little boy’s nose, effectively undoing his scowl “and that’s final.” 

Arthur walks to the table where Guinevere had set the trays and gives the spread a cocked brow, “no servants this morning?”

“Merlin and I were up and decided to take a walk around the castle while you slept, he was a bit rowdy this morning. We ran into George along the way.” 

Arthur nods, “should’ve taken the cat. She was rowdy as well.” 

Guinevere gives him a little, empathetic smile as she laces her fingers together and peers up at him, “perhaps Merlin is right. Maybe she’s too young to be alone and fending for herself. She’d still be nursing from her mother had she not been injured.”

“Guinevere,” Arthur begins, a tad desperately as he lowers his voice and steps closer to her before throwing a glance back at Merlin where the boy was at his cot with the cat, attempting to fold his tunics together, “darling, you can’t be serious. Are we really going to allow him to harbor that beast?” 

“Beast?” Guinever repeats, incredulously, “that is not a beast, it’s a kitten. The dragon your father harbored under the castle was a beast and you never complained then. What harm can she do, Arthur? Plus, Gaius will be back soon and you won’t even have to worry about her. Or Merlin.” 

Arthur snapped his mouth shut at that. He knew Gaius would return soon but it hadn’t actually occurred to him that’d mean Merlin would too. As in, return back to his place in Gaius’s chambers. Maybe a week ago Arthur would’ve been relieved by the statement. Or, at least, content with it. But now, for some reason, it just settled within him a bit heavy and he realizes he was actually feeling a little perturbed by his wife’s words. 

And bless Guinevere for she truly was a mind reader, Arthur is convinced. Her face shifts, turning all soft and with a barely there frown as she reaches out to squeeze his bicep, “we knew this wasn’t forever.” 

Arthur quickly shakes his head, hands on his hips as he brushes her words off and is about to admit defeat on the cat issue when Merlin marches by, kitten held at his hip with one hand while the other drags his quilt with the couple outfits he has in the other. 

Arthur and Gwen both raise their eyebrows at him. 

“Merlin,” Arthur starts, “what are you doing?”

“If Tilly has to stay in the stables then me too.”

Arthur snorts a laugh as he leans back to sit on the table, amused, “oh really?”

“Mhm,” Merlin mumbles as he drags the bundle behind him to the door, Tilly obediently just dangling from his grasp and all Arthur can see is her fluffy little tail and back legs. Arthur will admit, the kitten was loyal. 

“So you’re moving out then?” Arthur teases, shrugging when Guinevere gives him a look that tells him he shouldn’t. 

Merlin nods and stops at the door, “yes.”

The little warlock drops the end of his blanket before standing on his tiptoes and reaches up to pull at the door handle, nearly tripping over his own two feet. Tilly’s eyes widen comically when she thinks her handler is about to fall over. Yet still, the kitten doesn’t budge. 

The door swings open and Merlin pauses to turn back and gives Arthur one last longing look before he hoists Tilly up so he can get a better grip and grabs his quilt again, moving towards the hall. Arthur’s sigh is almost as dramatic as Merlin is being as he stands up completely and calls out for his boyservant, “Merlin, wait.”

Merlin stops and turns around, looking far too hopeful back at Arthur as the King waves him over, “the cat.. Can stay. Go put your stuff back and wash up for breakfast.”

Merlin’s face splits into a massive grin at that, relief washing over his features as he lets out a ‘phew’ and drags all his stuff back over to his cot, mumbling something about not really wanting to move to the stables. Arthur doesn’t bother to correct the boy and tell him he really had no chance in hell at moving out. He figured he’d just let Merlin think he won this one. 

Before long, Arthur’s whole room becomes Tilly-fied. After breakfast, Merlin and Gwen get to it making a little loo box, designate a spare blanket as a makeshift kitty bed, and Merlin gets the bright idea of making Tilly some toys. Arthur thinks he’s truly got other, much better, things to do throughout the day.   
“Pleeeeease, Arthur?” Merlin all but whines as he grabs the King’s hand and attempts to pull him out of his chair where Arthur was sitting at his desk. Arthur watches the poor attempt with bored eyes as he presses his knuckles to his lips. 

Merlin tugs again, groaning when Arthur won’t budge, “c’monnn! Play with me!”

“I think I’ll pass.”

“But Gwen said I can’t go outside alone. So that means you have to take me.”

“That is not what that means,” Arthur tells him matter of factly, “why can’t you just make some toys out of parchment? I’ve got plenty.”

Merlin huffs, holding Arthur’s hand in both of his as he gives the King a serious look, “I just need a stick to tie my string to.” 

Arthur really wishes Guinevere would’ve stuck around after breakfast and dealt with this since she was the one who had thought keeping the cat wasn’t such a bad idea in the first place. Why was this ridiculousness left up to Arthur? He really didn’t want anything to do with the useless feline at all. 

“Go ask Gwaine.” He tells Merlin, half serious, half joking. He wouldn’t mind someone relieving him for just a couple hours while he got some work done. Merlin slumps, his little fingers fidgeting with Arthur’s wedding band as his eyes flitter down to where Tilly is sitting patiently at his feet, looking up at both of them with a tender gaze. Truth be told, the kitten is probably just happy to be somewhere she felt safe, toys were just an added bonus. 

Arthur shifts in his chair, watching as Merlin twists his ring around his finger absentmindedly, taking a second to admire how much smaller the warlock’s hands really were like this. And, for once, how smooth they were. Adult Merlin had hands worse than his most days, having been cut up from endless chores and fighting to keep Arthur alive. He’s suddenly struck with the realization that little Merlin hasn’t had to worry about that all week, not really, nor has he had to work from dawn till dusk. Arthur had grown accustomed to admitting that sometimes the burdens Merlin carried worried him, he felt the warlock wasn’t always honest with just how much he’s had to hide and to bear for so long. Sure, now that Arthur knew of Merlin’s magic and their destiny and Arthur’s lifted the ban things were becoming much less stressful for his most faithful friend but Arthur still felt there were things Merlin wasn’t telling him, wasn’t letting him in on. 

He had hoped that one day Merlin would allow him to share the burden. But, he suspects, for now, he could indulge his warlock in mindless activities such as making cat toys and playing outside if it meant, for the time being, it kept Merlin happy and carefree. 

“Let’s go then,” Arthur says, breaking the silence and earning Merlin’s surprised eyes, “but then you have boots to polish and socks to match.”

Merlin’s elated smirk quickly fades into a grimace as he scrunches up his shoulders, “not the socks.” 

Arthur just wiggles his eyebrows, standing up from his chair and engulfing Merlin’s hand in his as he leads them towards the door, tugging just a bit more when he feels Merlin pull back. 

“Wait! What about Tilly?” the little boy asks, reaching back for the kitten who’s watching them go with curious eyes. Arthur just looks down at Merlin like he’s being ridiculous because.. Well.. in Arthur’s eyes he was. 

“Merlin, she’ll be fine alone for just a little bit.”

Merlin opens his mouth to say something but Arthur knows the warlock all too well and is quick to cut him off, “no, if you bring her and she gets lost then you’ll really be upset and I’m not spending my afternoon searching for a kitten.” 

Merlin wishes he could argue that but when he thinks about it Arthur makes a valid point. Plus, he should probably be grateful the King even decided to take him out to begin with; he wasn’t about to push his luck. Instead, Merlin allows Arthur to gently pull him along as he turns to wave back at Tilly, “be right back, Tilly!” 

The kitten merely meows at her name, cocking her head just the slightest at Merlin’s hand gesture before she becomes energized once more and pounces in the air before scattering off and darting around the room, chasing shadows and god only knows what else. 

Together, Arthur and Merlin walk through the castle and out the back to where the gardens and beautifully well kept lawns were, just like they had a few days before when Arthur had been desperate to find someone to watch the boy while he actually got some work done. He figures he could probably do that today too. Find Gwaine or Lancelot or whoever and have them go stick hunting with Merlin. But he doesn’t and now that he’s outside in the warm spring sun, listening to the little boy babble on about something at his side while their hands swing carelessly between them, he realizes he doesn’t want to.

He’s content being out here with Merlin. 

“Look!” Merlin suddenly exclaims, dropping his weight in Arthur’s hand as he points to the sky. Arthur startles from the sudden outburst and follows Merlin’s hand upwards until he sees a large bird circling the sky above them.

“A dragon!” Merlin explains, giddy from his discovery and Arthur frowns at him.

“You mean a hawk?” he asks but Merlin just frowns at him and shakes his head. 

“Pretend,” he nearly whispers to the King as if the hawk would overhear them from all the way up there. Or care. 

Arthur hesitates for a moment, looking around as if someone might be watching them before looking back at Merlin, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips, “a dragon huh? And what’s a dragon doing here?”

“It wants to attack you!” Merlin tells him, as if it’s obvious as he throws his little arms out and while he’s trying to be serious his body betrays him as a giggle slips past his lips. 

“So what do we do?” Arthur questions, playing along. Maybe it’s just for Merlin’s sake, or for his when he thinks about saving this moment in his mind so he can tease adult Merlin relentlessly about it later. But either way, he can’t help feeling just a little entertained with the idea of playing pretend. 

Merlin giggles again, covering his mouth before his grin takes over his pudgy cheeks as he says, “run!” and then he’s turning on his heel and booking it from Arthur. He takes off down the small hill and follows the dirt pathway that leads past the gardens and towards the woods. Arthur doesn’t have much time to think it over before he realizes he should chase after Merlin if only to keep him from getting lost. Again. 

“Merlin!” Arthur calls after him, surprised at how fast the little boy manages to be what with his little legs and barefeet, “not so fast!”

Merlin looks over his shoulder but his smile drops and he stops up so quickly Arthur almost tramples him, catching himself just in time. Merlin looks up at him disapprovingly, “you’re doing it wrong?” 

“Pardon?” Arthur asks, just a tad winded from the unexpected running.

“You need to put your arms out, like this!” Merlin shows him by extending his arms out to the side of himself and then he’s off again but this time he isn’t running far, more like circling Arthur as the King watches him with a baffled expression. 

“I’m not doing that.” 

“You have to! We’re pretending to be the hawk!” 

“Oh now it’s a hawk? What happened to the dragon?” Seriously, Arthur was going to get whiplash here. Were they running from a dragon or flying like a bird? Merlin needed to make up his mind. 

“It’s both!” And now Merlin was running away from him again, his laughter filling the air as he pretended to soar towards the trees, arms stretched out and feet slapping the soft ground loudly. “C’mon, slowpoke!” 

Slowpoke? 

Arthur was many things. A slowpoke wasn’t one of them. 

In fact, not to brag, but he was the fastest boy in the castle when he was growing up. None of the other boys could even hold a candle to him. 

Arthur gives chase, granted his arms aren’t out stretched like Merlin’s because honestly he’s just too focused on making the little boy eat his words. Merlin’s fast, Arthur will give him that, but a child is no match for his long strides and by the time they’re winding down the path that leads into a warmly lit forest Arthur is on his heels, teasing Merlin about gaining on him as the boy squeals and attempts to get away, riddled with anticipation at the sound of Arthur right behind him. 

“Who’s a slowpoke now, huh?” Arthur teases, grabbing Merlin around the waist from behind and hoisting him up in his arms. Merlin gasps at being caught before breaking down into more giggles, fighting off Arthur’s hold. 

“Not fair!” Merlin whines though it’s through a fit of laughter, “you’re bigger than me.” 

“What’s your excuse when you’re not a child?” Arthur jokes, twisting Merlin around in his arms before lifting the little boy high over his head and settling him down onto his shoulders. Merlin happily adjusts to his new seating arrangement, letting his arms dangle down below Arthur’s chin as he grips the collar of his tunic for purchase, his head tilted back as he watches the little birds from above play in the sun rays streaming in through the leaves. He ignores Arthur’s jab, too elated at being up so high as Arthur grips his shins and walks the two of them further down the well beaten path that twists and turns through the large oak trees of the forest.

It occurs to Arthur that he hadn’t actually been out this far since he was a boy himself. He can remember racing along the dirt path with the sons of his father’s councilmen, laughing and wrestling with each other as they pretended they were knights and lords and kings and battle hardened warriors. He used to love this trail, this forest. All the make believe quests and adventures he and his childhood friends had gone on had slipped far into the back of his mind until now. He jostles Merlin upon his shoulders playfully, earning a squeal and another bout of giggles from the boy as he hops a few strides, Merlin gripping tighter as he attempts to regain his balance. 

Merlin’s about to tell Arthur off when suddenly there’s a voice calling out behind them, the sound of fast falling footsteps following.

“Sire!” 

Arthur whips around, Merlin tilting with the motion but Arthur’s grip has him staying in place as they both look back towards the opening of the trail where none other than Lancelot is jogging up to them, a toothy grin upon his face as he slows in front of them. 

“Now just where are you two bounding off to?” he asks with just a hint of mischief as he cocks his head a bit. He’s out of his usual armour, instead wearing a simple dark blue tunic that is left wide open among the chest area thanks to the spring sun being so warm and Arthur notices he has a bow strung across his back. Lancelot must’ve seen them while he was at the archery fields that sit adjacent to the gardens. 

“We’re just taking a stroll,” Arthur says at the same time Merlin exclaims, “stick hunting!” 

Lancelot raises a brow, looking from Merlin to Arthur with inquisitive eyes and Arthur nods with a sigh, “and stick hunting.”

“Why?” 

“We have a kitten and she needs toys!” Merlin explains, as if it all makes perfect sense. Lancelot looks far too amused as he nods to the King and boyservant, Arthur can feel his cheeks pinking just a tad and he hopes he can blame it on the warm air. Lancelot isn’t as malicious as Gwaine or the rest of the lot can be though, instead he tells Merlin how that only seemed fair and agrees to help them look for ‘the perfect stick’ when the little boy nearly begs him to tag along. 

The three of them continue to follow down the trail, Merlin remaining tall on Arthur’s shoulders as Lancelot picks up sticks and reaches up so Merlin can inspect them. 

“No, too twisty. It looks evil.”

Arthur frowns, “it’s just a stick Merlin. It can’t be evil.”

“Tilly wouldn’t like it.” 

“I don’t think the cat will care,” he chuckles, pinching Merlin’s leg playfully.

“She will, it has to be perfect!” 

“What about this one?” Lancelot suggests, holding up a rather plump looking stick and Merlin makes a face at it, “too chubby.” 

Lancelot nods apologetically and tosses it into the woods, eyes darting around lazily as he looks for something that’d fit Merlin’s fancy. 

“This isn’t going to take all day is it?” Arthur asks, looking up at his hairline as if he could see Merlin over his head. The little boy is quick to reassure him no, it won’t take all day. 

And it doesn’t but it definitely takes longer than Arthur thinks it should. But he’s not complaining, not really. Eventually Merlin wiggles his way down from Arthur’s shoulders, deciding the best way to get the perfect stick for Tilly was to search for it himself. Arthur takes the time to chat with Lancelot about things other than training, duties, and threats for once. He realizes he hasn't done that in a while and it felt good to catch up with Lancelot again. The further they trek away from the castle the further Arthur’s responsibilities as king feels and Arthur thinks this is the most at ease he’s felt in months. 

“So…” Lancelot begins and his tone tells Arthur he’s switching to a heavier topic than just kingdom gossip and mindless chatter, “when is Gaius due back?”

Arthur stops alongside Lancelot and follows the knight’s gaze to where he’s watching Merlin crouch down by the side of a little bog, using a stick he once again has deemed undesirable to push a lily pad underneath the water’s surface. Arthur sighs, crossing his arms over his middle as he shakes his head, “Tomorrow, I believe. Give or take.”

Lancelot turns to look at him, eyes worried, “do you think he’ll have this all figured out?”

Arthur shakes his head again, “I don’t know. He should. He’s Gaius. I don’t think he’d come back with nothing. Especially when it comes to helping Merlin. He seemed pretty sure about this friend of his.”

Lancelot hums in agreement copying the King’s stance as he turns back to watch Merlin poke the lily pad again. They can hear the little boy gasp and tumble back to his bum when a frog jumps from the water and lands directly on the lily pad Merlin had been bothering. The little boy blinks at the frog before smiling and quickly reaching forward to grasp it in both hands. He puts his stick in his trousers before running over to Arthur and Lancelot, holding the frog up as if he’d just found gold. 

“Look!” 

Arthur reels back a bit, “great. Go put it back.”

Merlin pouts at him, “but look at it! I caught him.” 

Lancelot nods appreciatively, “very good, Merlin. But he looks scared to death. Why not let him rest on his lily pad?” 

Merlin’s silent for a moment as he cranes his head around his own grasp to look at the frog’s face. The little amphibian is practically frozen in time, his big eyes not blinking and his breath caught in his throat. Merlin lets out a little ‘oh’ before toddling back to the bog and gently placing the frog back on the lily, petting the top of it’s head with his pointer finger as he coos at the frog and apologizes to him. When heads back over to Lancelot and Arthur he takes the stick out of his pants and holds that up instead. 

“This is the one. It’s magic. I tapped a lily pad and the frog appeared.” 

Arthur and Lancelot share a look. 

“That’s… not how it works, I don’t think-” 

“We gotta go show Tilly!” 

Arthur decides to let Merlin have this one as he waves his hands in a ‘I give up’ kind of way as Merlin heads back the way they came, skipping and twirling around to face the two men as he waves his stick around. Eventually, Lancelot ends up holding onto it for Merlin as the little boy had fit himself between Arthur and the knight, holding onto both their hands as he attempted to swing himself between the two, dropping his weight and curling up his legs and laughing when the two men indulge him. 

Arthur smirks as he watches the boy with fond dubiety, “you’re gonna hate hearing about all this when you’re an adult again, Merlin.” 

Merlin either doesn’t understand him or chooses to pretend not to as he sends Arthur a look of skepticism before quickly swinging from their hands once again, giggling loudly when Lancelot picks him up particularly high before dropping him lightly back to his feet. 

“I’ll miss it,” Lancelot admits softly, smiling at the top of Merlin’s head and Arthur isn’t sure he heard him right.

“Miss what?”

“This.” Lancelot says as he and Arthur swing Merlin once more, the little boy never faltering in his laughter as he goes with the motion, “it’s kind of nice.”

Arthur’s not sure he really wants to talk about this. He turns away from Lancelot in favor of watching the opening of the trail get bigger and bigger as he turns Lancelot’s words over and over again in his head. 

He misses Merlin. His Merlin. Adult Merlin. The Merlin he doesn’t have to censor his teasing around or break down his words so he can understand him or be careful what he says in fear he might scare or upset the boy. He misses venting to Merlin as the manservant did mindless chores around his room and misses hearing those witty and oftentimes wildly inappropriate comebacks that had intrigued Arthur from day one. He misses just hearing Merlin’s voice, the one he had grown accustomed to for all those years, not the little high pitched one now. Especially when Merlin said things at just the right time; the moments when Arthur was feeling lost, confused, or just down on himself.   
As he picks Merlin up with one hand once more and allows the boy to swing between him and Lancelot he knows he misses Merlin more than he probably should have given it really hasn’t even been that long since he’d changed into this ‘new Merlin.’ 

But, he thinks, he’ll miss this little Merlin too. 

Cause, of all the things Merlin could have accidentally turned himself into… an adorable child was by far not the worst. 

Once they had returned back to Arthur’s chambers, Tilly had scurried to them as if they had been gone for ages. Surprisingly, she latches herself to Arthur’s pant leg, her little tail swishing behind her as she peers up at him with her pupils so big her eyes look black. 

“No, no,” Arthur scolds the cat, shaking her off gently, “you are horribly mistaken if you think I’ll allow that. Go on, shoo.” Tilly tumbles from his leg a bit ungracefully but manages to land on all fours before running into Merlin’s awaiting arms. The boy picks her up in a tight embrace, stick forgotten by his feet as he whirls around to show Lancelot who had been practically dragged up by Merlin. 

Lancelot’s face lights up when he sees the calico kitten and really Arthur’s not sure if the knight is putting on an act for Merlin’s sake or if he really has a soft spot for cats. Either way, Arthur leaves them to it, busying himself by tidying up his work area since Merlin is too little and too preoccupied to do it for him. He glances up to see the two have taken to sitting on the floor somewhere in the middle of his room, the stick and string (which is actually ribbon Guinevere had given Merlin when he first wanted to play with Tilly) between them as Lancelot helps Merlin in tying the string tightly around the top of the stick. 

Tilly’s already loving it. The moment the string had come out she’d attacked it like it was the enemy. And, in her eyes, it very well could’ve been. Arthur had just the tiniest hint of a smile when he watched the kitten grow frustrated with the ever evading string that always seemed to stay just out of her grasp. 

Eventually, Lancelot bids his farewells and even Arthur’s a little sad to see him go. It was kind of nice having someone to distract Merlin while he did other things. But for the most part, Merlin seems content to run around Arthur’s chambers, the stick dangling the string behind him as Tilly chases after it, her little claws sticking every so often to the ground beneath her and when she’d trip Merlin would baby her beyond belief. It was endearing, Arthur will admit. The two made quite the pair. 

By the time Arthur feels he’s done all his brain will allow him to do he notices just how quiet his chambers had become. He lifts his head from his hands, scanning the room but he can’t find Tilly or Merlin right away and for a second his heart speeds up just a tad when he thinks about the trouble they could’ve gotten in. His door is closed though and no matter how immersed he got into his work he would’ve heard if Merlin had snuck out. He stands up, his chair scraping across the ground rather loudly as he comes out from behind his desk, “Merlin?” 

There’s no answer and Arthur is quick to see why. Merlin is lying on his tummy on top of the covers of Arthur’s bed, his stick ribbon toy still clutched in one hand and Tilly wrapped up in his arm, on her back, and her little paws folded to her chest. They both appear to be asleep and Arthur wonders what gave Merlin the bright idea to climb into his bed for an afternoon nap in the first place. 

“Really, Merlin?” Arthur more or less mutters to himself as he walks up to the pair of them, leaning over his side of the bed to see if Merlin’s eyes are really shut. The boy definitely looks asleep, his eyelashes fanned out across his freckled cheeks and his lips parted slightly. Tilly seems very much asleep too but Arthur can still hear the faint sound of her purr dying out. He shakes his head, contemplating how it ever got to a little Merlin napping in his bed with a kitten and him finding the whole thing much more amusing than anything else. Arthur reaches for the quilt that’s folded neatly at the foot of his bed and gently brings it up over the two of them before quietly working the stick out of Merlin’s sleepy clutches. He sets it down on the bedside table and takes careful steps as he backs away. 

Suddenly, the door to the room swings open and Guinevere marches in, ready to greet Arthur before the King whips around with a finger to his lips, shushing her before she can get more than a syllable out. Guinevere furrows her brows at that and whispers, “did you just shh me?” 

“Yes,” Arthur whispers back and pointedly looks at Merlin. Guinevere forgets being offended as she hurries up beside Arthur and when sees Merlin and Tilly tucked in for a nap she’s torn between awwing and whining. 

“Oh nooo,” she groans quietly, “you let him fall asleep? Now he’ll never go to bed tonight.” 

That hadn’t even occurred to Arthur until now but in his defense he wasn’t even expecting for Merlin to want to take a nap, the boy hadn’t even mentioned one since he had turned small. Arthur figured he was just over the age of needing one. Whatever age that may be. 

“He exhausted himself,” Arthur explains, “he’s been playing with the damn cat since you left.” 

Gwen bites her lip and turns to her husband, “she is rather cute. Look at her, she loves him.” 

Arthur’s not about to admit out loud that the cat is cute. Or that she may just be growing on him a little. But he doesn’t disagree as he leads his wife away so as to not disturb the two from their slumber. 

But, for the record…

Arthur Pendragon may be a cat person if only for Tilly.


	11. Chapter 11

The day Gaius is due to return is one full of anticipation and doubt.

And giggles but that one was solely on Merlin’s part. Quite frankly Arthur didn’t see anything funny about Tilly running around the room with his good stocking in her mouth, attempting to attack it and ultimately putting little holes right where his toes go. 

“Hey, you” Arthur scolds amidst a sigh as he bends down to swipe the little kitten up in his hands, tugging his sock free from her clutches and tilting her up so she can see just how disappointed he really is, “not my good stockings, how many times do I have to tell you?” 

Tilly is unphased, of course. She’s too busy watching his lips move as her fluffy tail wags behind her, the only warning Arthur gets before she attempts to bat at his nose. Merlin’s there at his feet in an instant, standing on his tiptoes as he makes grabby hands for his kitten, apologizing for her antics. 

“Sorry Arthur! She doesn’t mean it!” 

Arthur hands her over with a grunt and gets to work folding his stocking up neat, “keep your kitten under control, will you?” 

Merlin nods bashfully, tucking his kitty under his arm before scurry back over to Arthur’s bed where he had been sitting playing with her until she had gone on a rampage and decided to rage war on all things Arthur.

“You gotta be good to him” Merlin whispers to her, “I think he’s starting to like ya.” 

Arthur shoots critical eyes to Merlin but says nothing as he pulls out a chair and goes back to barely picking at his breakfast. He feels on edge waiting around for Gaius like this. A part of him is worried for the older physician, hoping he made the long journey there safely and will do so as well on the way back. The other part of him is worried about Gaius’s findings. Does he have a cure? Or… a potion or spell or whatever the hell it is that will magically turn Merlin back into his annoying adult self?

And there’s another part. A part Arthur has been wrestling with for perhaps a little longer than he’d like to admit. A part that is maybe smaller in comparison to the other two but nags at him just as much. If not more. It’s the realization that maybe he’s grown accustomed and perhaps just a tad bit fond of this little Merlin. He worries what life might be like if Gaius can get Merlin back to his rightful self. Which, Arthur knows, is absolutely ridiculous. He knows life before little Merlin because they’ve only had little Merlin for a week and big Merlin for a decade. But, for some reason, this past week has felt like a lifetime and as much as he misses his best friend and confidante he can’t help but worry about missing this Merlin too. He keeps thinking of little things that’ll change or disappear and really they feel just too small and pathetic to mention out loud. Things like a missing plate at the dinner table and no more stories before bed. No more midday strolls through the castle and through the gardens and bothering the knights who really aren’t bothered at all. He thinks about Guinevere no longer lighting up the way she has been when she sees Merlin bounding up to her on his little bare feet and the fact that she’s been adorning her simple yet pretty casual dresses that she hardly breaks out nowadays. Arthur curses this silly fear that she will permanently trade them back in for her royal gowns and he’ll never see the less embellished ones ever again. 

Arthur thinks about no more tickles or impromptu, childish games of chase, tag, and hide and go seek. No more high pitched giggles or pudgy cheeks or freckles or, dare Arthur say it, no more Tilly.

Now Arthur knows Tilly won’t be gone, gone but even if it’s only been two nights he’ll miss waking up to her fluffy little self nestled on top of his chest, purring quietly with closed eyes until Arthur opened his. 

Arthur chances a glance over to where Merlin is sitting criss cross on his bed, the stick with the ribbon tied to it dangling in front of him as Tilly flops all over the place trying to capture it, his boyish laughter filling the air whenever she manages to secure her objective, tumbling onto her back and biting at the ribbon as if it were fighting to escape and Arthur can’t help but think back to what Lancelot had said yesterday. 

Arthur will miss this.

A little while later, after Arthur gave up trying to get Merlin to eat more than he did for breakfast and all the plates were stacked and pushed to the side, Guinevere comes through the chamber doors, looking apologetic when Arthur quickly stands up and strides across the room to her.

“Any word on Gaius?”  
Gwen bites her lip, eyes darting to Merlin who is standing topless a little ways away, holding one of his tiny tunics up and turning it all around as he looks for the hole to put his head through, “no. No sign of him yet.”

Arthur nods, letting out a small sigh, “well, there’s still plenty of daylight left. If he’s not here by nightfall I’ll… send men out that way. Just in case.”

Guinevere gives him a tight smile, reaching out to squeeze his upper arm lovingly, “relax, Arthur. All will be fine.” 

Arthur wishes he could believe that but, call him a pessimist, he just has this gnawing feeling of doubt swirling somewhere inside him. 

“Arthur?” a little voice calls out and both Gwen and Arthur look down beside them to where Merlin stands, his head completely covered by his light blue tunic. He’s managed to get one arm through but it’s at an awkward angle and the sight makes the King chuckle despite himself. 

“Merlin, what have you done?” he asks gently. He can see Merlin’s head tilt up at his voice and he imagines the boy is pouting somewhere in there. 

“Can you help me?” he asks innocently and Arthur chuckles again, taking a knee beside the boy and finds the hole where his head is supposed to go down by where his stomach is. Arthur opens the hole up and peeks up inside where he can see Merlin’s eyes through the darkened space. 

“You were close,” Arthur tells him and even though Merlin’s head is bent in that uncomfortable way the little warlock flashes him a grin before the King begins to adjust the shirt around, pulling Merlin’s other arm through the sleeve and pulling the shirt down so Merlin’s head pops out, his wavy black hair ruffled up and cheeks pink from his predicament. 

Arthur reaches out to smooth Merlin’s hair down, scoffing at how unruly it is and makes note that if Gaius can’t turn Merlin back that the boy will need a haircut before the week’s end. 

“Good god, Merlin. Look at this mess.” 

Merlin’s eyes shoot up to where he can see his bangs hanging over his forehead and reaches up to comb his fingers through it, pushing Arthur’s hand out of the way, “I can’t help it,” he whines, his bottom lip popping out as he attempts to tame it. Arthur picks up a barely there curl, tugging on it teasingly and snickering when Merin bats his hands away. 

“I don’t remember you ever having curls, Merlin. You’re due for a cut.” 

Merlin snaps his eyes to Arthur and quickly covers his head with his arms, looking at the King offensively, “no! No cuts.”

Arthur tsks at him, standing back up and crossing his arms. That bit about Merlin certainly hasn’t changed. Even as an adult, Merlin was less than pleased to have to get his hair trimmed. He usually kept it pretty short and Arthur thinks perhaps that was why he had never seen any proper curls. Before Gwen became queen she had been the one to cut Merlin’s hair as she was ‘gentle, cautious and never snipped an ear’ as Merlin had put it. But once she became Queen, Merlin had taken it upon himself to seek haircuts from Gaius. 

He only had to come to Gwen and Arthur with a bloodied ear once for Gwen to resume her role as his trusted hair trimmer, queen or not. 

“I’m still me, Merlin,” Gwen had assured him as he attempted to wiggle out of the chair where she had him held by the shoulders, “plus I know what you like. You don’t want to walk around with bad hair. That just gives Arthur more to tease you with.” 

It was enough for Merlin to give in and allow the Queen and only the Queen to cut his hair. Arthur hopes that’ll still work now as a child. He takes a quiet, shuddered breath when he realizes he’s thinking long term. He just wishes Gaius would appear and tell them he either has a spell or doesn't, that way they will know their next move. This uncertainty is enough to drive Arthur crazy. 

“Were you talking about Gaius?” Merlin asks innocently, his blue eyes blinking up at both Arthur and Gwen as he absentmindedly plays with the bottom of his shirt. Merlin hadn’t mentioned Gaius much since he left but Arthur had a feeling the little boy missed him more than he let on. 

Arthur shares a quick glance with his wife before looking back down at Merlin, “yes. He’s supposed to come back today… remember?” 

“No,” Merlin says truthfully, shaking his head, “I don’t even know what day it is.” 

“Right. Of course. Well Gaius is due back today so let's make ourselves useful in the meantime and get to work. I’m meeting the knights on the training fields for some exercise. Do you wanna come with?” 

Arthur already knew the answer. By the time he had said the word knights Merlin’s face had lit up and the little boy was already halfway to the door, calling out for Gwen to come along. Arthur figured Guinevere would let the little warlock down gently, explain to him she hadn’t been to the training fields in a long while thanks to the duty she had to her royal responsibilities these days. But Arthur was taken by surprise when his wife merely met the boy at the door, emitting giggles of her own as she gathered his hand up in hers and the two practically skipped out the room and down the corridors, hardly waiting for Arthur to even gather himself and follow along. 

“Now, hold on,” Arthur calls after them, grabbing his own waterskin and training sword, a task Merlin would’ve been saddled with had he not been a cheeky little tot who seemed to weasel his way out of work by the simple flash of a grin. Arthur shoves the dull sword under one arm as he closes the door behind him, watching his wife and boyservant happily lead the way.

Yes, he’ll definitely miss little Merlin.

But it’ll be nice to have his manservant back too. 

This was one of Merlin’s most favoritest days. He could vaguely remember as an adult when Arthur would call together his knights and the lot of them would have a playful, easy going ‘training session’ in the warm sun with dull, heavy training swords and no armour whatsoever. It was never serious nor extensive. Just a few good men with a couple swords and an audience of betting servants or squires as their masters would be paired up against each other. 

Arthur swore the reasoning behind it was because these types of training kept men sharp, agile and boosted morale among the brotherhood. Merlin felt that was true but he always suspected Arthur just had a damn good time with it as well. It was like a bunch of men had turned into boys again, chasing each other around and whacking their weapons together in a battle of brawn. Forget the brains. And Merlin was always entertained and had a grand old time cheering them on.  
This time, the fields were rather cleared save for Arthur and his most trusted men and Merlin watched giddily from his spot in Gwen’s lap as Gwaine danced around the field, dodging Leon’s attempts to make contact as he methodically steps around the older knight. Leon’s face is turning red from more than just exhaustion as Gwaine makes a mockery of him. 

“Getting old, Leon?” Gwaine taunts, finally lifting his sword to meet Leon’s as he sidesteps. Merlin giggles from his spot on the side, smiling from ear to ear as he watches the two poke fun at each other. 

“Did you like that, Merlin?” Gwaine asks him, catching his breath as he skips back away from Leon and twirls his sword around, earning an eyebrow raise from his competitor who’s growing frustrated with Gwaine’s antics. 

“Quit showing off, Gwaine,” Leon warns him, taking a swipe at the younger man but Gwaine is too fast and is far too caught up in his showboating to turn it down now. He continues pulling moves around Leon as if he were at a ball not a training session and Leon can feel his patience wear thin as he begins to take less thought out jabs at Gwaine, grunting and cursing when the younger knight narrowly misses them. 

“Keep your head, Leon,” Arthur instructs from the side where he stands with the rest of the knights, their eyes following Gwaine and Leon’s every move.

When it starts to look like Leon just can’t land an effective blow to Gwaine the younger knight looks to Merlin and Gwen with a proud smile, his arms stretched out as he saunters towards them with his back to Leon who’s catching his breath as he watches his opponent take in the spectators approvals. Merlin seems particularly taken with Gwaine’s work, smiling up at him like he was a god and Leon thinks there’s no way he can let Gwaine walk off this field with that big an ego. 

With a new found second wind, Leon pursues forward. Gwaine hears him coming, the whoosh of his body charging him and is quick to turn to deflect a blow but he’s caught off guard when he notices Leon is bent at the waist and is aiming for his feet. Gwaine has little time to think of his next move before Leon has the flat side of his blade pressed firmly into the back of Gwaine’s shins and with all his might lifts the younger knight’s legs up in one solid motion, effectively taking Gwaine’s feet right out from underneath him. 

Gwaine gasps as he lands to his back with a loud thud, the sun blinding his eyes before a curly blonde head blocks it from above. Leon’s smirking down at him, looking pleased and amused all at once as he tilts his head and presses the end of his blade just under Gwaine’s chin, “not so impressive down there, are ya?” 

Merlin and Gwen are both watching with wide eyes, their hands over their mouths as they share a look of disbelief before Merlin casts his look of wonder to Leon, enthralled with the new outcome as he begins to clap and giggle at the same time his comrades begin to cheer for him. And criticize Gwaine.

“Real nice, Gwaine.” 

“You left an opening.” 

“Could’ve seen that coming.” 

“Alright,” Gwaine sighs as he accepts Leon’s hand and allows the older knight to pull him back to his feet, “I get it.” 

Despite his rather embarrassing loss he congratulates Leon and the two walk off the field shoulder to shoulder. A new pair takes the field with a new set of weapons and while Merlin is excited over the prospect of another round Gwen winces when the hits seem too harsh, biting her lip and hiding her face in Merlin’s hair when her brother gets laid out by Percival. 

“I thought these were nothing more than a bit of warm ups?” she questions as she peeks over Merlin’s head to see her brother catching his breath, smiling up at Percival when the giant knight cracks a joke at him. 

Arthur takes a seat on the grass by his wife, his sword lay forgotten a few meters away as he shrugs, “it is.” 

Guinevere gives him a look of uncertainty and is ready to say something before Merlin gets up from her grasp and joins the men on the field when Gwaine takes it upon himself to jump on Percival’s back, toppling the larger knight over with his weight. Any sort of organized training (if you could call it that to begin with) is quickly forgotten among the pile of knights that wrestle for the upper hand. Leon breaks away from it all, having none of it as he walks his sword and shield to the table on the sidelines. Lancelot goes to follow him but he’s stopped when Elyan grabs his ankle, causing him to hop a few steps before falling forward and trying to wiggle himself free. His efforts are shot when Merlin works against him, tackling him from behind and wrapping his little arms around the knight’s neck.

“Traitor, Merlin!” Lancelot teases as he succumbs to the attack and Merlin giggles, elated at the idea of any kind of play.

Arthur watches, amused and a bit entertained as he stretches out in the grass, his arms out behind him and his legs crossed at the ankles. He hears Guinevere scoff beside him, gesturing to the group of wrestling men with her hand, “now who’s the child?” 

Arthur shakes his head, “beats me.” 

Eventually, and not surprisingly, it’s who Percival who puts the rough housing to an end and by the time he stalks away Lancelot follows after him before catching Arthur’s eye and sneaking over to where the King and Queen sit, hesitant to drop down next to him until Arthur nods to the empty space in invitation. He casts a glance at Gwen, giving her a polite smile.

“Lancelot,” she greets, returning the smile. 

“My Lady. Enjoying the show?”

“Oh but of course,” Gwen says, voice very clearly sarcastic as she bites back a giggle, “very professional.” 

Lancelot merely shrugs, looking down as he shifts into a more comfortable position. When he glances back up he sees Gwaine spread out on his side a little ways in front of them, watching as Elyan pulls a wooden sword on Merlin who also has a wooden sword, though it’s much smaller. They had gotten them from the table where all the weapons were, Elyan challenging Merlin to a playful duel with the swords saved for young squires and children.

But Merlin has never been much of a swordsman and he’s quick to become distracted, squatting down with his back to Elyan and using the sword as a shovel of sorts as he digs at the ground, tongue poked out in concentration. 

“Merlin,” Elyan chides lightly, “that’s not what they’re for. Come on, I challenged you.” 

Merlin looks behind him, face contorted as he scrunches up his nose, “what? With this?” he asks innocently and stands up, holding up his little wooden sword questionably. 

“Well you can’t very well carry the other ones now can you? Come on, I’ll teach you.”  
“Be careful, Elyan!” Gwen calls out, watching with a pinched expression. But her brother merely tosses her a grin as he playfully knocks Merlin’s sword out of the little boy's grasp. Merlin blinked owlishly at his now empty hands before glaring up at Elyan.

“Oh, you’re in for it now, Elyan,” Gwaine whistles from his spot. 

Elyan wiggles his eyebrows at Merlin, tempting him to play as he gently pokes the boy’s tummy with the tip of his wooden sword. Merlin’s glare lightens at that as he covers his stomach and giggles. 

“C’mon, Merlin,” Elyan encourages, “maybe I’ll even let you win.” 

Merlin doesn’t need to hear much more as he grabs his tiny sword and immediately dodges Elyan’s blade as he lands a hit to the man’s calf. Elyan is far more dramatic than he has to be, pretending his leg has been impaled as he falls to a knee. The action is enough to cause Merlin to erupt in a fit of childish laughter and he does it again to elicit the same response from the knight. 

They play like that for a little bit, Gwaine cheering Merlin on and giving Elyan shit as they do until eventually Merlin’s in midswing when his eyes land on a grasshopper and he immediately drops his sword, mouth ‘o’ shaped as he squats down to stare at the little bug. 

Lancelot smirks when Merlin brings the grasshopper to Gwaine who instantly recoils back, calling the bug gross as he tells the boy to keep it away from him. The mischief in Merlin’s eye tells Lancelot he’ll do anything but. 

As the three watch Merlin innocently torment Gwaine with his little bug friend Lancelot takes the moment of semi privacy between them to turn to Arthur and ask seriously, “do you know when Gaius is to return, Sire?”

Arthur looks to him from the corner of his eye, “today. That’s all I know. He never gave any specifics beyond that.” 

Lancelot nods, eyes squinting among the sun rays as he shifts some more and Arthur glances at him, a bit perplexed as to why the knight suddenly seems uncomfortable. Almost nervous-like. 

“Everything alright, Lancelot?” he asks with a crooked brow. 

The knight doesn’t respond right away and his pause causes Gwen to poke her head around her husband, looking to him with concern as he avoids her eyes. 

“Lancelot?” 

“There’s something… I wanted to say,” he finally gets out as he quickly looks back to where Merlin, Gwaine and Elyan were busy with grasshoppers while the rest of the knights engaged in conversation by the weaponry table, “but I’m not sure when or where would be good enough to say it.” 

Arthur straightens up, turning his torso towards Lancelot as he bends his legs and crosses his arms over his knees, “here’s as good as any, I’m sure. Best to just get it out.” 

“Thank you, Sire,” Lancelot says quietly and finally looks to the King and Queen nervously, “I just wanted to… offer my services. You know… in case Gaius can not change Merlin back. I know he’s a handful, as most children are, and the two of you have more asked of you than any of us can imagine. And with Gaius getting on in age… even Merlin as an adult stresses him out” he pauses to chuckle at his own words before continuing. “And we couldn’t possibly send him back to his mother. Or ask her to come here. Not with her ill health.” 

Though Hunith’s health was stable at the moment, Arthur knew it fluctuates with the seasons. When he thought long term of Merlin staying like this he figured he’d have to write to his mother soon and explain the situation. But he knew he couldn’t ask of her to travel the long way to Camelot nor to care for Merlin like this all over again. It wouldn’t be fair to her aging body. He had already thought that one over through the night. 

“What are you saying, Lancelot?” Arthur asks, his tone not giving anything away as he stares the knight down, eyes unblinking. 

“I… am willing to take him. Off your hands. To… care for him.” 

There’s a tense moment of silence before Guinevere speaks up, “are you saying you want to raise him?” 

It sounds so foolish out in the open like that. Merlin, who was a grown man just seven days ago now reduced to a mere child who couldn’t even properly dress himself alone needing to be ‘raised.’ And his very own dear friend offering to do such a thing. Just when Arthur thought he was getting used to the whole thing it just gets even more odd all over again. 

Even though Arthur himself had been contemplating the last couple days of how he and Guinevere were going to care for Merlin if Gaius couldn’t change him back. He just hadn’t used those exact words. Not yet. And definitely not out allowed.

Lancelot himself seems to share Arthur’s thoughts as his cheeks uncharacteristically begin to pinken at Gwen’s words. He opens and closes his mouth for a moment, seemingly at a loss before he lets out a humorless chortle and shakes his head, “I suppose so…. Yes,” he says, more confidently, “yes. I’ll raise him. If that is what needs to be done, I’m offering to do it. Merlin’s done more for me, for everyone, than we know. It’s not ideal but I’m more than willing to do this for him.”

It’s a touching sentiment and Guinevere shows it by smiling sweetly at the knight, reaching around Arthur to touch his hand but the King breaks up the moment with a cold and hard, “no.” 

“What?”

Guinevere and Lancelot both look at him as if he’d actually said the absurdity here and Arthur finds that comical. 

“No, no one’s ‘raising Merlin’” he mocks a bit snappishly as he stands up, dusting off his trousers, “he’s fine where he is for the time being, until Gaius can turn him back. And Gaius will. But until then, well,” Arthur looks down at his wife and knight with a curt nod, “he’s fine with me. But thank you, Lancelot.” 

Arthur doesn’t wait to hear their rebuttals, cause he knows they’ll have one, instead he grabs his sword and marches to the weapons table, ignoring Gwaine’s call to him as he convinces Percival to take the field with him, effectively shooing the others off. 

Elyan leads Merlin off to the side, carrying some of the grasshoppers for him that the boy had caught, trying not to let them escape at Merlin’s demands. Gwaine avoids going with, bugs just creeped him out, and goes to hang out by the Queen and Lancelot instead. 

“What’s his deal?” Gwaine asks with a scoff, jabbing a thumb in Arthur’s direction on the field.

Guinevere and Lancelot share an uneasy look and Gwaine smiles impishly, plopping himself down beside the knight, “you again? You piss him off more than I do it seems.” 

Lancelot looks away bashfully and Gwaine just finds that even more amusing, “what? Did he not like the idea of Merlin living with you? Told you.”

Lancelot scowls at him, “you did not.” 

“Did too. Think now’s a good time to offer up my idea?” 

Gwen raises her eyebrows at him, “what is your idea, Gwaine?” 

“I’ll take Merlin too. We all will. What’s the saying? It takes a village?” 

Lancelot just shakes his head, “what do you know about caring for a child?” 

“Plenty,” Gwaine counters back, offended, “I’m great with children. So long as he keeps the bugs outside.”

Suddenly they’re interrupted by a squire boy rushing the field, shouting for Arthur rather desperately as he and Percival stop their sparring and wait for the young man to catch his breath. Gwaine gets to his feet and Lancelot offers Guinevere a hand as they hear the squire say, 

“Sire, Gaius is back!” 

Gaius is terribly exhausted as he enters his chambers and drops his things on the table. His body aches from riding for so long, he thinks he may be permanently bow legged at this point, and his back may never straighten again no matter how he attempts to make it do so. He hasn’t travelled such a distance in quite a while and he’s reminded as to why. Despite his tiring body, he’s pleased to know he’s made it back when he thought he would though be it a bit later in the day than he would’ve liked. But being back at all is better than nothing. 

His old eyes scan the room, expecting to find his little ward lounging about somewhere but he’s disappointed to see it appears the chambers had been empty for quite some time. It lacks any warmth from the fireplace and the air smells still, as if the door nor windows hadn’t been opened since he left. 

“Merlin?” he calls out, waddling his way over to the boy’s room. He only takes one step before he hears the door to the chambers bang open, a little voice calling out his name and by the time he can even fully turn around there're arms wrapped around his legs. 

“You’re back!” Merlin chirps happily, smiling up at the old man with such glee Gaius can’t help but smile back, reaching down to cup the boy’s face lovingly. 

“Hello, my boy,” he greets. Even though Gaius knew Merlin would still be a child upon his return it’s still so funny to him to his ward like this. Though the thought takes a backseat to the notion of how much Gaius had actually missed Merlin, child or not. 

There’s a commotion at the door and Gaius looks up to see a bunch of knights plus the King and Queen themselves spill into his chambers, Percival accidentally pushing Elyan and Leon through the threshold and apologizing with a little grin. 

Gaius frowns, pulling Merlin off him gently and meeting Arthur halfway who broke from the group and strides up to Gaius with such ambition the physician stops up quickly in case the King barrels into him. Arthur stops just short of an arm's length, looking nervous and placid at the same time as he nods to Gaius. 

“Are you well, Gaius?” 

“Quite, Sire. Thank you.” 

Arthur nods again, looking back at his wife and knights before turning to Gaius a bit impatiently. He can see Merlin standing behind the old physician with his hands behind his back, eyes big as he watches the adults. 

“And of your findings?” 

Gaius was never a cruel man but he allows a moment of tense silence to stretch between them as the room waits with bated breath before he decides to give the news. 

“It was a trip well worth taking… I have a potion that should reverse the spell-”

Gaius is cut off by a collective round of cheers and hollars by the knights who celebrate quickly among themselves, Gwaine darting out to scoop Merlin up and hold him up like he was a prize they had just won. For his part, Merlin seemed confused by the sudden ruckus but was happy to be spun around even for a brief moment. 

“But!” Gaius shouts, effectively hushing the celebration as everyone stares at him cautiously, “that’s if it works.” 

“What do you mean by that, Gaius?” Gwen asks, nervously, “why wouldn’t it work?”

Gaius suddenly looks even older as he explains, “the potion works best if administered right away. The longer the spell is in effect the less likely the potion is to reverse it.”

The hush among the small crowd weighs heavy as Gaius’s words sink in, the previous celebration seeming almost foolish now with the reality of the potion not being 100 percent. Because of course there’s a chance it wouldn’t work. 

Of course. 

Arthur wants to scream. Rip his hair out. Stomp his foot. It’s never an easy fix. Nothing magic ever is. It feels like they’ve come so far. Waited so long. Gaius looks dead tired, the journey couldn’t have been easy on him, and for what? Nothing to work because they’ve unknowingly waited too long? 

“Well, how long is too long?” Arthur asks, demands, and he really doesn’t mean to sound so rude or childish but he’s been juggling all kinds of emotions all day. All week really. 

Gaius shakes his head, “I’m not sure, Sire. The sorceress I got it from has only ever used it within hours of the deaging spell. Not days.” 

That seemed so… grim. 

Arthur feels like he’s done a complete flip from all of the conflicting emotions from earlier. While he had been feeling an impending sense of loss at the thought of there being no more little Merlin he now feels that same sense of loss of the very real possibility of never seeing his Merlin again.

Arthur looks around the room, eyes finding Merlin in Gwaine’s arms, sitting on the knight’s hip as he lays his head on Gwaine’s shoulder, appearing to be rather unphased by the news. In fact, the boy seems void of any emotion and Arthur’s not sure if that’s because he’s concerned about the fact he may not be his old self again if he’s just tired. Arthur fears the latter. He hasn’t said it out loud but lately it’s been pretty obvious that Merlin was becoming more and more detached from his adult self. Arthur had previously just chalked it up to the side effects of the deaging spell and while that still might be true the King wonders if it was a sign as to just how far Merlin had been falling into this spell.

Perhaps too far to be pulled out of it. 

“We have to try,” Arthur says, voice just above a whisper as he turns to Gaius, eyes pleading, “we’re running out of time.” 

“Best not to waste anymore of it then,” Gaius responds, working against his aging limbs as he hurries and takes the satchel off his shoulder. Arthur waves Gwaine over and Guinevere taps the nearby workbench when the knight seems confused as to where to put Merlin who was growing more and more limp in his arms. He jostles the boy a bit, hoping to get him more energized as he sets him down on the workbench.

Merlin rubs at his eye with one of his fists, quickly reaching back out to Gwaine when he steps away, not wanting to sit on his own as he becomes more lethargic. 

Gaius steps up, cutting Merlin’s reach from Gwaine off and the little boy frowns at him, deepening it when the knight chuckles at him, “we’ll get you back to yourself Merlin and then you’ll be red as a tomato when we tell you about all this cuddly stuff.” 

Gaius has a vile in his hand and he quickly pops the top off. The greenish/yellow liquid on the inside sloshes a bit and Gaius swirls it around for a second before carefully placing it into Merlin’s hand, forcing the boy’s small fingers to clasp it tightly. If it spilled now they’d surely be doomed. 

“Drink all of it, Merlin. Don’t stop till it’s all gone. Understood?” 

Merlin’s nose scrunches up as he holds the vile up and examines the liquid on the inside, “it looks gross…”

“Don’t think about that. Just swallow.” 

“It smells gross.” 

“Merlin, we don’t have time to talk about it,” Arthur scolds, “we will hold you down if we have to so it’s best to drink it on your own.” 

Merlin’s eyes widen a bit at that as he looks at the knights warily and they look back at him with encouraging smiles, Elyan and Percival giving him a thumbs up. Guinevere gives her husband a scolding look but Arthur’s got his eyes solely on Merlin, one arm crossed over his chest and his fist to his lips. Waiting. 

Merlin’s not really sure if Arthur’s serious or not but he knows he’s too little to take on a bunch of grown men. Maybe if he was quick he could duck past them but they’d catch him eventually. Plus.. he wants to get big again. 

He thinks. 

So Merlin plugs his nose and hesitantly puts the bottle to his lips. He tries to be brave and take a big gulp but plugging his nose doesn’t do much and the taste is almost worse than the smell. He immediately goes to bring the bottle back down but Gaius is there, tipping the bottle back up. 

“No, Merlin! You mustn’t stop. Drink it my boy, quickly!” 

Merlin wants to obey but his little body is so sensitive to the taste and as the horrid liquid runs down his throat he desperately wants to spit it back up and take a breath of air. But Gaius is relentless, he forces the whole thing into Merlin’s mouth and tears spring to his eyes on their own accord. Gaius quickly takes the now empty bottle from Merlin, tossing it aside and neverminding if it shatters somewhere on the table as he quickly slaps a hand over Merlin’s mouth, not trusting the boy won’t spit it all out and ignoring the warm tears that hit his hand. 

Through blurry eyes, Merlin can see Gaius staring at him with a hard expression and beyond him he can see everyone else watching, skeptical. Guinevere has her hands over her mouth and Arthur grabs Lancelot’s arm when the knight attempts to reach for Gaius. It must’ve been uncomfortable watching a man force a child to drink something so horribly tasting it brought tears to their eyes. 

When Merlin musters the strength to gulp the rest of it down Gaius removes his mouth and pinches his chin to open the boy’s mouth, just to make sure. 

“There, there,” Gaius soothes, patting Merlin’s wet cheek as the boy coughs, “no need to cry. It’s over.” 

“It tastes bad.” Merlin supplies pitifully, taking the sleeve of his tunic to wipe his eyes. 

Percival is quick to take his waterskin off his hip, gesturing to Guinevere who’s closer and she takes it before giving it to Merlin who gratefully takes a sip, sniffling when the bad taste washes off his tongue. 

Everyone’s watching him like he’s ready to implode or keel over.

Or magically change back into a man.

“Well,” Gwaine asks, “do you feel any different? Is anything happening?” 

Merlin tilts his face down to look at himself. He’s still very much a child, his feet dangling a ways from the floor and he feels embarrassed that he’s not doing what everyone’s waiting for. 

“N-no.” 

There’s a collective sigh and Merlin feels worse. Tears bubbling to his eyes for a whole other reason now and Gwen is quick to step forward and comfort him. Arthur turns to Gaius, trying to keep calm as he asks, “what else can we do?” 

Gaius takes a deep breath, eyes roaming from Merlin to the King as he shakes his head, “I’m afraid I don’t know, Sire. I’m not sure if there’s any more we can do. Perhaps in time-”

There’s a sudden brightness from the workbench and Gaius and Arthur both turn to see Gwen has taken a step back from Merlin who’s looking at his arms as a faint light emits around him. Arthur grabs Gaius’s arm, “what’s happening?” 

Before Gaius can explain the brightness swallows up the room and Arthur can’t see anything until the glow disappears just as quickly as it had come. The King uncovers his eyes slowly, blinking as he adjusts back to the regular lighting and when he can see clearly again his face splits into a huge grin.

Sitting on the workbench isn’t the little, messy haired boy that had been bouncing around the castle for the past week. It’s Merlin. The real, adult sized Merlin. All lanky limbs and short cut hair, and cheekbones and long legs that nearly touch the floor. He’s every bit the Merlin Arthur had come to know and befriend and the sight of him as the King letting out a breathy laugh of disbelief as the warlock checks himself all over. He’s staring at his arms, pats down his chest, feels up his angular face and barely there stubble and runs his fingers through his short hair before he looks up and his expression matches Arthur’s. 

“It worked!” he exclaims and god… Arthur doesn’t realize how much he’d missed that voice. Far deeper than the one they’d been hearing for the past week and a bit rough from Merlin adjusting to his new (old) body. 

“It worked, Gaius!” Merlin says again, cheerfully as he hops off the workbench and wraps the old physician in a tight embrace, Gaius groaning when Merlin squeezes just a bit too hard, obviously not used to the strength he now has. He pulls away and looks himself over again, turning to the rest of the room who share his excitement as he points to his face, “is it normal again? Does it look normal again?”

He’s almost breathless asking and it’s Gwaine who joyfully steps forward, slapping Merlin on the shoulder, “yeah it’s normal again. Ugly as ever.” 

Merlin’s not even bothered the slightest at the joke, he allows Gwaine to hug him as he congratulates him turning back into a man and the rest of the knights follow suit, Lancelot cupping his face in both his hands and slapping his cheeks cheerfully. 

Gwen makes her way through and gives Merlin her ever sweet smile as she reaches up to hug him, marveling to herself that only moments ago she would’ve had to bend down. 

Merlin returns the hug, “thank you,” he says quietly, pulling away as he squeezes her hands, “for everything.” 

Gwen’s brows jump up just the slightest, “do you remember everything? How are you feeling?” 

“I feel… good. Normal, I think. My memory’s...fuzzy. It all kinda feels like a dream.” 

Merlin drops Guinevere’s hands as he realizes what he had actually done now that he was an adult again. He recalls more than he wishes as he thinks back on the week spent as a child and he can feel his cheeks heating up.

“I- uh- owe you all a thank you. And probably an apology. I certainly wasn’t expecting to do that,” Merlin explains awkwardly as he scratches the back of his neck. The knights take it with ease, knocking his shoulder and ruffling his hair as they tell him they’re glad he’s back and respectively leave the room to allow Merlin to gather his wits. 

When the doors shut behind them and it’s just the four of them, Merlin chances a glance at Arthur who’s staring at him with his hands on his hips, looking relieved and unsure and like he has so much to say but he’s not sure how to say it. Guinevere looks between the two of them, biting her lip before she lets out an “oh!” and grips Merlin’s arms, “I’ll go get Tilly. I’m sure she’ll want to see you.” 

It’s a rather lame attempt of leaving the room but Merlin appreciates it anyways and he is a bit curious as to whether Tilly will recognize him or not. He had almost forgotten about his cat with all the commotion. 

“Tilly?” Gaius asks questionably. 

“We got a cat while you were away, you’ll like her.” 

Gaius thinks that doesn’t explain anything but he ignores it as he goes back to cleaning up the glass on the table from the vile he had tossed, letting the King have his moment with his manservant. 

Arthur’s just taking adult Merlin in as he steps towards him, looking him up and down like he’s half expecting Merlin to shrink again, “I got to say, Merlin… that was probably by far the stupidest thing you've ever done. And you have quite the list.” 

Merlin can’t deny that. He certainly feels stupid. But he’s far too relieved that he was able to change back to be upset over it. Instead of taking the bait he smirks at Arthur, “thank you.” 

Arthur blinks at him, “wasn’t a compliment.” 

“No, I mean… thank you. For everything,” he says, just like he had said to Guinevere but it feels more sincere just between the two of them and Arthur shifts his weight.

“How much... Do you remember?” the King asks carefully, his eyes avoiding Merlin’s and the warlock smiles. 

“Not much. But I do remember feeling,” Merlin pauses as he thinks about the right word, eyes narrowingly as he holds Arthur’s gaze, “...safe.” 

Arthur’s not really sure how to respond to that and he’s uncomfortable with the fact that he’s just as unsure as he had been when Merlin was a child. To change the subject he quickly reaches out to wrap an arm around Merlin’s head, squeezing it just enough to get a reaction from Merlin as he ruffles the warlock’s hair roughly. 

“Be more careful next time, would you?” Arthur teases, letting Merlin go and pushing his shoulder away, turning his back on him and stalking out the room but not before throwing over his shoulder, “don’t forget I’ll be expecting you tomorrow morning as my servant again. And you’ll be doing real chores this time, no more playing around.” 

And with that Arthur leaves the chambers, letting the door shut heavily behind him as Merlin is left rubbing his neck, smiling after the King. Gaius raises his eyebrow at him, “what are you smiling like that for?”

“Can’t I just be happy to be me again?” 

Gaius just gives him that look. The one where he knows Merlin is being facetious and he doesn’t approve. 

But Gaius can glare Merlin down all he wants, he’s not caving in. The warlock has a little secret that he thinks he’ll keep all to himself. If not for his sake, Arthur’s. 

Because Merlin remembers everything. 

Everything is much more quiet now, Arthur’ll admit. He passes his wife in the corridors who’s got Tilly in her arms and is hurrying to Gaius’s, excited to give Merlin his kitten now that he’s an adult. 

It feels odd to walk the halls alone, no little hand in his as a high pitched voice rambles on about nonsense. He tries to forget about it, focus on the relief of having his servant and best friend back. This is what he had wanted. What everyone had wanted. What had to happen. There’s no use mourning the loss of a little boy who never should’ve been a boy to begin with. 

And, to be honest, isn’t even truly gone. Merlin has always had a childlike quality to him. It’ll be like little Merlin never even really left, Arthur tells himself at least. 

The only difference is that now when Merlin babbles on and on Arthur can tell him to shut up without the threat of tears. 

A win win. 

Except when Arthur enters his quiet and empty chambers his eyes zero in on the cot not from his own bed, the makeshift stick toy he and Merlin had crafted together laying forgotten on the quilt, the ribbon dangling off the side. He picks it up gingerly and wraps the ribbon securely around the stick. Tilly can’t go without her favorite toy but Arthur’s not quite ready to see Merlin again. Instead he leaves his room and stops a servant in the halls, instructing them to take the stick to Gaius’s as Arthur heads out to the stables. It’s not the most kingly thing to do but he thinks spending sometime with Not Tom and brushing out his coat will clear his head. 

Perhaps he can straighten the strands of mane that were left crimped from all the braiding. 

Later that night, when the sun had set low below the trees and Camelot is left in the dusk Arthur bids a goodnight to his steed as he allows the nervous stable boys to take over. They had always seemed out of sorts whenever the King came down to spend time with his horses and it amused Arthur to a certain extent. He pats Tom’s strong neck and steps out of the stall to allow the stable boy to fill the trough up with oats and walks back through the castle and to his chambers where he hopes Guinevere is waiting for him. 

As he closes in on his door, he barely makes out what sounds like a woman giggling and the faint buzz of a conversation. His brows knit together as he quietly steps up to the door and places his ear to the wood, trying to figure out the voices before he realizes the door is too thick to allow such a thing and he opens it to step inside. 

His presence effectively cuts whatever conversation off as Guinevere and Merlin look up from where they’re having dinner at Arthur’s table, food spread out before them and a third plate waiting in front of the chair Arthur usually sits in, a goblet full to the very top. Arthur shuts the door behind him, looking at the two of them in obvious confusion as he steps in but doesn’t get far when something attaches itself to his feet. 

When he looks down two little green orbs look back up at him. Tilly is latched onto his boot, tail zig zagging behind her as she challenges him to move. 

“What’s the meaning of this?” he asks, eyes shooting from his wife to Merlin and the two share a look before the warlock lifts up a goblet like he was ready to give a toast. 

“You promised.” 

If possible, Arthur looks even more confused, “come again?” 

“You promised,” Merlin repeats, as if it’s as obvious as can be, “remember? If I went to sleep you promised we could have a sleepover when I was big again. Well here I am.” 

It takes Arthur a full minute to process exactly what Merlin means before the King is assaulted with a memory from the first night a little Merlin had been brought to sleep in his room since the boy wasn’t able to be alone. It seemed so long ago now but Arthur remembers Merlin talking up a storm (when doesn’t he) and Arthur just desperately wanting the boy to go to sleep. 

He had promised a sleepover when Merlin was big.

But for god sake he had been tired and at his wit’s end and would’ve promised close to anything if it meant the boy would stop asking questions and just sleep. 

Arthur’s also hit with a small fear of… just how much does Merlin actually remember? 

The King sags when he realizes he’ll probably find out little by little. No doubt Merlin will use it as an advantage to tease or get under Arthur’s skin. Of course he would. It is Merlin after all. 

“I suppose I did,” Arthur sighs but there’s a smile on his face as he walks towards his chair, Tilly bounding behind him as she chases his heel. Arthur takes the seat at the head of the table, catching a smirk Merlin wears just for him and Arthur rolls his eyes. 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“Given the past week, I’d have to agree with you this time, Sire.”

“A magical idiot.” 

Merlin chuckles at that and raises his goblet once more in agreement and shoots a wink for good measure. 

“A magical idiot indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh good god I'm done. Again, not great with the whole magic thing. Just did my best with what I thought would match the story. And was easiest to write cause kudos to the writers who can actually type out whatever it is that Merlin says when he does spells lol I could never. 
> 
> I have a hard enough time with the English language... 
> 
> Anyways, thanks for everything! The kind comments and helpful critiques. Totally not expected but definitely appreciated. 
> 
> Hope everyone's staying healthy and warm! (unless you're from a hot climate (you lucky duck) stay cool)


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